CABIN 
FEVER 

'EMBOWER 


CABIN  FEVER 


53.  Jfi.  Eofoer 


GOOD    INDIAN 

THE    UPHILL   CLIMB 

THE    GRINGOS 

THE    RANCH    AT    THE    WOLVERINE 

THE    FLYING   Il's    LAST    STAND 

JEAN    OF    THE   LAZY   A 

THE    PHANTOM    HERD 

THE    HERITAGE    OF    THE   SIOUX 

STARR,    OF    THE   DESERT 

THE    LOOKOUT   MAN 


Then  they  too  went  away  into  the  hills 

FRONTISPIECE.    See  page  112 


CABIN  FEVER 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

B.  M.  BOWER 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 

FRANK  E.  SCHOONOVER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


Copyright,  1918, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 

All  rights  reserved 
Published,  January,  1918 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF     ...  1 

II    Two  MAKE  A  QUARREL 16 

III  TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB  FOR  BUD    .     .  25 

IV  HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING    ...  40 
V  BUD  CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES     .     .  55 

VI  BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS  .     .     .     .,     .  ,73 

VII    INTO  THE  DESERT 86 

VIII  MANY  BARREN  MONTHS  AND  MILES  .     .102 

IX    THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 115 

X  EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS    .     .     .  130 

XI    THE  FIRST  STAGES 142 

XII  MARIE  TAKES  A  DESPERATE  CHANCE  .     .156 

XIII  CABIN  FEVER  IN  ITS  WORST  FORM    .     .  171 

XIV  CASH  GETS  A  SHOCK    ......  190 

XV    AND  BUD  NEVER  GUESSED 201 

XVI    THE  ANTIDOTE 209 

XVII  LOVIN  CHILD  WRIGGLES  IN     ....  218 

XVIII  THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES                .  227 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIX  BUD  FACES  FACTS 240 

XX  Lovitf  CHILD  STRIKES  IT  EICH    .     .     .  258 

XXI  MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 267 

XXII  THE  CURE  COMPLETE  .  .280 


CABIN   FEVER 

CHAPTEK  OKE 

THE    FEVEK    MANIFESTS    ITSELF 

THEKE  is  a  certain  malady  of  the  mind  induced 
by  too  much  of  one  thing.  Just  as  the  body 
fed  too  long  upon  meat  becomes  a  prey  to  that  horrid 
disease  called  scurvy,  so  the  mind  fed  too  long  upon 
monotony  succumbs  to  the  insidious  mental  ailment 
which  the  West  calls  "  cabin  fever."  True,  it  pa 
rades  under  different  names,  according  to  circum 
stances  and  caste.  You  may  be  afflicted  in  a  palace 
and  call  it  ennuij  and  it  may  drive  you  to  commit 
peccadillos  and  indiscretions  of  various  sorts.  You 
may  be  attacked  in  a  middle-class  apartment  house, 
and  call  it  various  names,  and  it  may  drive  you  to 
cafe  life  and  affinities  and  alimony.  You  may  have 
it  wherever  you  are  shunted  into  a  backwater  of  life, 

1 


CABIN  FEVER 

aiul  lose '  the  :senise  of  being  borne  along  in  the  full 
ri'-rien";  of  piTOg^ss,  Be  sure  that  it  will  make  you 
abnormally  sensitive  to  little  things;  irritable  where 
once  you  were  amiable;  glum  where  once  you  went 
whistling  about  your  work  and  your  play.  It  is  the 
crystallizer  of  character,  the  acid  test  of  friendship, 
the  final  seal  set  upon  enmity.  It  will  betray  your 
little,  hidden  weaknesses,  cut  and  polish  your  undis 
covered  virtues,  reveal  you  in  all  your  glory  or  your 
vileness  to  your  companions  in  exile  —  if  so  be  you 
have  any. 

If  you  would  test  the  soul  of  a  friend,  take  him 
into  the  wilderness  and  rub  elbows  with  him  for  five 
months !  One  of  three  things  will  surely  happen : 
You  will  hate  each  other  afterward  with  that  en 
lightened  hatred  which  is  seasoned  with  contempt; 
you  will  emerge  with  the  contempt  tinged  with  a 
pitying  toleration,  or  you  will  be  close,  unquestioning 
friends  to  the  last  six  feet  of  earth  —  and  beyond. 
All  these  things  will  cabin  fever  do,  and  more.  It 
has  committed  murder,  many's  the  time.  It  has 
driven  men  crazy.  It  has  warped  and  distorted 
character  out  of  all  semblance  to  its  former  self. 

2 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

It  has  sweetened  love  and  killed  love.  There  is  an 
antidote  —  but  I  am  going  to  let  you  find  the  anti 
dote  somewhere  in  the  story. 

Bud  Moore,  ex-cow-puncher  and  now  owner  of  an 
auto  stage  that  did  not  run  in  the  winter,  was  touched 
with  cabin  fever  and  did  not  know  what  ailed  him. 
His  stage  line  ran  from  San  Jose  up  through  Los 
Gatos  and  over  the  Bear  Creek  road  across  the  sum 
mit  of  the  Santa  Cruz  Mountains  and  down  to  the 
State  Park,  which  is  locally  called  Big  Basin.  For 
something  over  fifty  miles  of  wonderful  scenic  travel 
he  charged  six  dollars,  and  usually  his  big  car  was 
loaded  to  the  running  boards.  Bud  was  a  good 
driver,  and  he  had  a  friendly  pair  of  eyes  —  dark  blue 
and  with  a  humorous  little  twinkle  deep  down  in 
them  somewhere  —  and  a  human  little  smiley  quirk 
at  the  corners  of  his  lips.  He  did  not  know  it,  but 
these  things  helped  to  fill  his  car. 

Until  gasoline  married  into  the  skylark  family, 
Bud  did  well  enough  to  keep  him  contented  out  of 
a  stock  saddle.  (You  may  not  know  it,  but  it  is 
harder  for  an  old  cow-puncher  to  find  content,  now 
that  the  free  range  is  gone  into  history,  than  it  is 

3 


CABIN  FEVER 

for  a  labor  agitator  to  be  happy  in  a  municipal  board 
ing  house.) 

Bud  did  well  enough,  which  was  very  well  indeed. 
Before  the  second  season  closed  with  the  first  fall 
rains,  he  had  paid  for  his  big  car  and  got  the  insur 
ance  policy  transferred  to  his  name.  He  walked  up 
First  Street  with  his  hat  pushed  back  and  a  cigarette 
dangling  from  the  quirkiest  corner  of  his  mouth,  and 
his  hands  in  his  pockets.  The  glow  of  prosperity 
warmed  his  manner  toward  the  world.  He  had  a 
little  money  in  the  bank,  he  had  his  big  car,  he  had 
the  good  will  of  a  smiling  world.  He  could  not  walk 
half  a  block  in  any  one  of  three  or  four  towns  but  he 
was  hailed  with  a  "  Hello,  Bud !  "  in  a  welcoming 
tone.  More  people  knew  him  than  Bud  remembered 
well  enough  to  call  by  name  —  which  is  the  final 
proof  of  popularity  the  world  over. 

In  that  glowing  mood  he  had  met  and  married  a 
girl  who  went  into  Big  Basin  with  her  mother  and 
camped  for  three  weeks.  The  girl  had  taken  frequent 
trips  to  Boulder  Creek,  and  twice  had  gone  on  to  San 
Jose,  and  she  had  made  it  a  point  to  ride  with  the 
driver  because  she  was  crazy  about  cars.  So  she  said. 

4  - 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

Marie  had  all  the  effect  of  being  a  pretty  girl.  She 
habitually  wore  white  middies  with  blue  collar  and 
tie,  which  went  well  with  her  clear,  pink  skin  and 
her  hair  that  just  escaped  being  red.  She  knew  how 
to  tilt  her  "  beach  "  hat  at  the  most  provocative  angle, 
and  she  knew  just  when  to  let  Bud  catch  a  slow,  side 
long  glance  —  of  the  kind  that  is  supposed  to  set  a 
man's  heart  to  syncopatic  behavior.  She  did  not  do 
it  too  often.  She  did  not  powder  too  much,  and  she 
had  the  latest  slang  at  her  pink  tongue's  tip  and  was 
yet  moderate  in  her  use  of  it. 

Bud  did  not  notice  Marie  much  on  the  first  trip. 
She  was  demure,  and  Bud  had  a  girl  in  San  Jose 
who  had  brought  him  to  that  interesting  stage  of  dal 
liance  where  he  wondered  if  he  dared  kiss  her  good 
night  the  next  time  he  called.  He  was  preoccupiedly 
reviewing  the  she-said-and-then-I-said,  and  trying  to 
make  up  his  mind  whether  he  should  kiss  her  and 
take  a  chance  on  her  displeasure,  or  whether  he  had 
better  wait.  To  him  Marie  appeared  hazily  as  an 
other  camper  who  helped  fill  the  car  —  and  his  pocket 
—  and  was  not  at  all  hard  to  look  at.  It  was  not 
until  the  third  trip  that  Bud  thought  her  beautiful, 

5 


CABIN  FEVER 

and  was  secretly  glad  that  he  had  not  kissed  that 
San  Jose  girl. 

You  know  how  these  romances  develop.  Every 
summer  is  saturated  with  them  the  world  over.  But 
Bud  happened  to  be  a  simple-souled  fellow,  and  there 
was  something  about  Marie  —  He  didn't  know  what 
it  was.  Men  never  do  know,  until  it  is  all  over.  He 
only  knew  that  the  drive  through  the  shady  stretches 
of  woodland  grew  suddenly  to  seem  like  little  journeys 
into  paradise.  Sentiment  lurked  behind  every  great, 
mossy  tree  bole.  New  beauties  unfolded  in  the  wind 
ing  drive  up  over  the  mountain  crests.  Bud  was  ter 
ribly  in  love  with  the  world  in  those  days. 

There  were  the  evenings  he  spent  in  the  Basin, 
sitting  beside  Marie  in  the  huge  campfire  circle,  made 
wonderful  by  the  shadowy  giants,  the  redwoods ;  talk 
ing  foolishness  in  undertones  while  the  crowd  sang 
snatches  of  songs  which  no  one  knew  from  beginning 
to  end,  and  that  went  very  lumpy  in  the  verses  and 
very  much  out  of  harmony  in  the  choruses.  Some 
times  they  would  stroll  down  toward  that  sweeter 
music  the  creek  made,  and  stand  beside  one  of  the 
enormous  trees  and  watch  the  glow  of  the  fire, 

6 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

and  the  silhouettes  of  the  people  gathered  around 
it. 

In  a  week  they  were  surreptitiously  holding  hands. 
In  two  weeks  they  could  scarcely  endure  the  part 
ings  when  Bud  must  start  back  to  San  Jose,  and 
were  taxing  their  ingenuity  to  invent  new  reasons 
why  Marie  must  go  along.  In  three  weeks  they  were 
married,  and  Marie's  mother  —  a  shrewd,  shrewish 
widow  —  was  trying  to  decide  whether  she  should 
wash  her  hands  of  Marie,  or  whether  it  might  be 
well  to  accept  the  situation  and  hope  that  Bud  would 
prove  himself  a  rising  young  man. 

But  that  was  a  year  in  the  past.  Bud  had  cabin 
fever  now  and  did  not  know  what  ailed  him,  though 
the  cause  might  have  been  summed  up  in  two  meaty 
phrases :  too  much  idleness,  and  too  much  mother-in- 
law.  Also,  not  enough  comfort  and  not  enough  love. 

In  the  kitchen  of  the  little  green  cottage  on  North 
Sixth  Street  where  Bud  had  built  the  home  nest 
with  much  nearly-Mission  furniture  and  a  piano, 
Bud  was  frying  his  own  hotcakes  for  his  ten  o'clock 
breakfast,  and  was  scowling  over  the  task.  He  did 

7 


CABIN  FEVER 

not  mind  the  hour  so  much,  but  he  did  mortally  hate 
to  cook  his  own  breakfast  —  or  any  other  meal,  for 
that  matter.  In  the  next  room  a  rocking  chair  was 
rocking  with  a  rhythmic  squeak,  and  a  baby  was 
squalling  with  that  sustained  volume  of  sound  which 
never  fails  to  fill  the  adult  listener  with  amazement. 
It  affected  Bud  unpleasantly,  just  as  the  incessant 
bawling  of  a  band  of  weaning  calves  used  to  do.  He 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  young  things  going 
hungry. 

"For  the  love  of  Mike,  Marie!  Why  don't  you 
feed  that  kid,  or  do  something  to  shut  him  up  ? " 
he  exploded  suddenly,  dribbling  pancake  batter  over 
the  untidy  range. 

The  squeak,  squawk  of  the  rocker  ceased  abruptly. 
"  'Cause  it  isn't  time  yet  to  feed  him  —  that's  why. 
What's  burning  out  there?  I'll  bet  you've  got  the 
stove  all  over  dough  again — "  The  chair  resumed 
its  squeaking,  the  baby  continued  uninterrupted  its 
wati-h-hah !  waJi-h-hah,  as  though  it  was  a  phonograph 
that  had  been  wound  up  with  that  record  on,  and  no 
one  around  to  stop  it. 

Bud  turned  his  hotcakes  with  a  vicious  flop  that 
8 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

spattered  more  batter  on  the  stove.  He  had  been  a 
father  only  a  month  or  so,  but  that  was  long  enough 
to  learn  many  things  about  babies  which  he  had 
never  known  before.  He  knew,  for  instance,  that 
the  baby  wanted  its  bottle,  and  that  Marie  was  going 
to  make  him  wait  till  feeding  time  by  the  clock. 

"  By  heck,  I  wonder  what  would  happen  if  that 
darn  clock  was  to  stop !  "  he  exclaimed  savagely,  when 
his  nerves  would  bear  no  more.  "  You'd  let  the  kid 
starve  to  death  before  you'd  let  your  own  brains  tell 
you  what  to  do !  Husky  youngster  like  that  —  feed 
ing  'im  four  ounces  every  four  days  —  or  some  simp 
rule  like  that  — "  He  lifted  the  cakes  on  to  a  plate 
that  held  two  messy-looking  fried  eggs  whose  yolks 
had  broken,  set  the  plate  on  the  cluttered  table  and 
slid  petulantly  into  a  chair  and  began  to  eat.  The 
squeaking  chair  and  the  crying  baby  continued  to 
torment  him.  Furthermore,  the  cakes  were  doughy 
in  the  middle. 

"  For  gosh  sake,  Marie,  give  that  kid  his  bottle !  " 
Bud  exploded  again.  "Use  the  brains  God  gave 
yuh  —  such  as  they  are!  By  heck,  I'll  stick  that 
darn  book  in  the  stove.  Ain't  yuh  got  any  feelings 

9 


CABIN  FEVER 

at  all?  Why,  I  wouldn't  let  a  dog  go  hungry  like 
that!  Don't  yuh  reckon  the  kid  knows  when  he's 
hungry  ?  Why,  good  Lord !  I'll  take  and  feed  him 
myself,  if  you  don't.  I'll  burn  that  book  —  so  help 
me!" 

"  Yes,  you  will  —  not !  "  Marie's  voice  rose 
shrewishly,  riding  the  high  waves  of  the  baby's  in 
cessant  outcry  against  the  restrictions  upon  appetite 
imposed  by  enlightened  motherhood.  "  You  do,  and 
see  what'll  happen!  You'd  have  him  howling  with 
colic,  that's  what  you'd  do." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  the  world  he  wouldn't  holler  for 
grub !  You'd  go  by  the  book  if  it  told  yuh  to  stand 
?im  on  his  head  in  the  ice  chest !  By  heck,  between 
a  woman  and  a  hen  turkey,  give  me  the  turkey  when 
it  comes  to  sense.  They  do  take  care  of  their  young 
ones  — " 

"  Aw,  forget  that !     When  it  comes  to  sense  — " 

Oh,  well,  why  go  into  details  ?  You  all  know  how 
these  domestic  storms  arise,  and  how  love  washes 
overboard  when  the  matrimonial  ship  begins  to  wal 
low  in  the  seas  of  recrimination. 

Bud  lost  his  temper  and  said  a  good  many  things 
10 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

he  should  not  have  said.  Marie  flung  back  angry 
retorts  and  reminded  Bud  of  all  his  sins  and  slights 
and  shortcomings,  and  told  him  many  of  mamma's 
pessimistic  prophecies  concerning  him,  most  of 
which  seemed  likely  to  be  fulfilled.  Bud  fought 
back,  telling  Marie  how  much  of  a  snap  she  had  had 
since  she  married  him,  and  how  he  must  have  looked 
like  ready  money  to  her,  and  added  that  now,  by 
heck,  he  even  had  to  do  his  own  cooking,  as  well  as 
listen  to  her  whining  and  nagging,  and  that  there 
wasn't  a  clean  corner  in  the  house,  and  she'd  rather 
let  her  own  baby  go  hungry  than  break  a  simp  rule 
in  a  darn  book  got  up  by  a  bunch  of  boobs  that 
didn't  know  anything  about  kids.  Surely  to  good 
ness,  he  finished  his  heated  paragraph,  it  wouldn't 
break  any  woman's  back  to  pour  a  little  warm  water 
on  a  little  malted  milk,  and  shake  it  up. 

He  told  Marie  other  things,  and  in  return,  Marie 
informed  him  that  he  was  just  a  big-mouthed,  lazy 
brute,  and  she  could  curse  the  day  she  ever  met  him. 
That  was  going  pretty  far.  Bud  reminded  her  that 
she  had  not  done  any  cursing  at  the  time,  being 
in  his  opinion  too  busy  roping  him  in  to  support  her. 

11 


CABIN  FEVER 

By  that  time  he  had  gulped  down  his  coffee  and 
was  into  his  coat,  and  looking  for  his  hat.  Marie, 
crying  and  scolding  and  rocking  the  vociferous  in 
fant,  interrupted  herself  to  tell  him  that  she  wanted 
a  ten-cent  roll  of  cotton  from  the  drug  store,  and 
added  that  she  hoped  she  would  not  have  to  wait 
until  next  Christmas  for  it,  either.  Which  bit  of 
sarcasm  so  inflamed  Bud's  rage  that  he  swore  every 
step  of  the  way  to  Santa  Clara  Avenue,  and  only 
stopped  then  because  he  happened  to  meet  a  friend 
who  was  going  down  town,  and  they  walked  to 
gether. 

At  the  drug  store  on  the  corner  of  Second  Street 
Bud  stopped  and  bought  the  cotton,  feeling  remorse 
ful  for  some  of  the  things  he  had  said  to  Marie,  but 
not  enough  so  to  send  him  back  home  to  tell  her  he 
was  sorry.  He  went  on,  and  met  another  friend  be 
fore  he  had  taken  twenty  steps. 

This  friend  was  thinking  of  buying  a  certain 
second-hand  automobile  that  was  offered  at  a  very 
low  price,  and  he  wanted  Bud  to  go  with  him  and 
look  her  over.  Bud  went,  glad  of  the  excuse  to  kill 
the  rest  of  the  forenoon. 

12 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

They  took  the  car  out  and  drove  to  Schutzen  Park 
and  back.  Bud  opined  that  she  didn't  bark  to  suit 
him,  and  she  had  a  knock  in  her  cylinders  that 
shouted  of  carbon.  They  ran  her  into  the  garage 
shop  and  went  deep  into  her  vitals,  and  because  she 
jerked  when  Bud  threw  her  into  second,  Bud  sus 
pected  that  her  bevel  gears  had  lost  a  tooth  or  two, 
and  was  eager  to  find  out  for  sure. 

Bill  looked  at  his  watch  and  suggested  that  they 
eat  first,  before  they  got  all  over  grease  by  monkey 
ing  with  the  rear  end.  So  they  went  to  the  nearest 
restaurant  and  had  smothered  beefsteak  and  mashed 
potato  and  coffee  and  pie,  and  while  they  ate  they 
talked  of  gears  and  carburetors  and  transmission  and 
ignition  troubles,  all  of  which  alleviated  temporarily 
Bud's  case  of  cabin  fever  and  caused  him  to  forget 
that  he  was  married  and  had  quarreled  with  his  wife 
and  had  heard  a  good  many  unkind  things  which  his 
mother-in-law  had  said  about  him. 

By  the  time  they  were  back  in  the  garage  and  had 
the  grease  cleaned  out  of  the  rear  gears  so  that  they 
could  see  whether  they  were  really  burred  or  broken, 
as  Bud  had  suspected,  the  twinkle  was  back  in  his 

13 


CABIN  FEVER 

eyes,  and  the  smiley  quirk  stayed  at  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  and  when  he  was  not  talking  mechanics 
with  Bill  he  was  whistling.  He  found  much  lost 
motion  and  four  broken  teeth,  and  he  was  grease  to 
his  eyebrows  —  in  other  words,  he  was  happy. 

When  he  and  Bill  finally  shed  their  borrowed 
overalls  and  caps,  the  garage  lights  were  on,  and  the 
lot  behind  the  shop  was  dusky.  Bud  sat  down  on  the 
running  board  and  began  to  figure  what  the  actual 
cost  of  the  bargain  would  be  when  Bill  had  put  it  into 
good  mechanical  condition.  New  bearings,  new 
bevel  gear,  new  brake,  lining,  rebored  cylinders  — 
they  totalled  a  sum  that  made  Bill  gasp. 

By  the  time  Bud  had  proved  each  item  an  absolute 
necessity,  and  had  reached  the  final  ejaculation: 
"  Aw,  forget  it,  Bill,  and  buy  yuh  a  Ford !  "  it  was 
so  late  that  he  knew  Marie  must  have  given  up  look 
ing  for  him  home  to  supper.  She  would  have  taken 
it  for  granted  that  he  had  eaten  down  town.  So, 
not  to  disappoint  her,  Bud  did  eat  down  town.  Then 
Bill  wanted  him  to  go  to  a  movie,  and  after  a  praise 
worthy  hesitation  Bud  yielded  to  temptation  and 
went.  ISTo  use  going  home  now,  just  when  Marie 

14 


THE  FEVER  MANIFESTS  ITSELF 

would  be  rocking  the  kid  to  sleep  and  wouldn't  let 
him  speak  above  a  whisper,  he  told  his  conscience. 
Might  as  well  wait  till  they  settled  down  for  the 
night. 


15 


CHAPTEE  TWO 

TWO    MAKE    A    QUAKREL 

AT  nine  o'clock  Bud  went  home.  He  was  feeling 
very  well  satisfied  with  himself  for  some  rea 
son  which  he  did  not  try  to  analyze,  but  which  was 
undoubtedly  his  sense  of  having  saved  Bill  from 
throwing  away  six  hundred  dollars  on  a  bum  car; 
and  the  weight  in  his  coat  pocket  of  a  box  of  choco 
lates  that  he  had  bought  for  Marie.  Poor  girl,  it 
was  kinda  tough  on  her,  all  right,  being  tied  to 
the  house  now  with  the  kid.  Next  spring  when  he 
started  his  run  to  Big  Basin  again,  he  would  get  a 
little  camp  in  there  by  the  Inn,  and  take  her  along 
with  him  when  the  travel  wasn't  too  heavy.  She 
could  stay  at  either  end  of  the  run,  just  as  she  took 
a  notion.  Wouldn't  hurt  the  kid  a  bit  —  he'd  be 
bigger  then,  and  the  outdoors  would  make  him  grow 
like  a  pig.  Thinking  of  these  things,  Bud  walked 
briskly,  whistling  as  he  neared  the  little  green  house, 
so  that  Marie  would  know  who  it  was,  and  would 

16 


TWO  MAKE  A  QUARREL 

not  be  afraid  when  he  stepped  up  on  the  front  porch. 

He  stopped  whistling  rather  abruptly  when  he 
reached  the  house,  for  it  was  dark.  He  tried  the 
door  and  found  it  locked.  The  key  was  not  in  the 
letter  box  where  they  always  kept  it  for  the  con 
venience  of  the  first  one  who  returned,  so  Bud  went 
around  to  the  back  and  climbed  through  the  pantry 
window.  He  fell  over  a  chair,  bumped  into  the 
table,  and  damned  a  few  things.  The  electric  light 
was  hung  in  the  center  of  the  room  by  a  cord  that 
kept  him  groping  and  clutching  in  the  dark  before 
he  finally  touched  the  elusive  bulb  with  his  fingers 
and  switched  on  the  light. 

The  table  was  set  for  a  meal  —  but  whether  it 
was  dinner  or  supper  Bud  could  not  determine.  He 
went  into  the  little  sleeping  room  and  turned  on 
the  light  there,  looked  around  the  empty  room, 
grunted,  and  tiptoed  into  the  bedroom.  (In  the  last 
month  he  had  learned  to  enter  on  his  toes,  lest  he 
waken  the  baby.)  He  might  have  saved  himself 
the  bother,  for  the  baby  was  not  there  in  its  new 
gocart.  The  gocart  was  not  there,  Marie  was  not 
there  —  one  after  another  these  facts  impressed 

17 


CABIN  FEVER 

themselves  upon  Bud's  mind,  even  before  he  found 
the  letter  propped  against  the  clock  in  the  orthodox 
manner  of  announcing  unexpected  departures. 

Bud  read  the  letter,  crumpled  it  in  his  fist,  and 
threw  it  toward  the  little  heating  stove.  "  If  that's 
the  way  yuh  feel  about  it,  I'll  tell  the  world  you 
can  go  and  be  darned !  "  he  snorted,  and  tried  to  let 
that  end  the  matter  so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  But 
he  could  not  shake  off  the  sense  of  having  been  badly 
used.  He  did  not  stop  to  consider  that  while  he 
was  working  off  his  anger,  that  day,  Marie  had 
been  rocking  back  and  forth,  crying  and  magnifying 
the  quarrel  as  she  dwelt  upon  it,  and  putting  a  new 
and  sinister  meaning  into  Bud's  ill-considered  ut 
terances.  By  the  time  Bud  was  thinking  only  of  the 
bargain  car's  hidden  faults,  Marie  had  reached  the 
white  heat  of  resentment  that  demanded  vigorous 
action.  Marie  was  packing  a  suitcase  and  meditat 
ing  upon  the  scorching  letter  she  meant  to  write. 

Judging  from  the  effect  which  the  letter  had  upon 
Bud,  it  must  have  been  a  masterpiece  of  its  kind. 
He  threw  the  box  of  chocolates  into  the  wood-box, 
crawled  out  of  the  window  by  which  he  had  entered, 

18 


TWO  MAKE  A  QUARREL 

and  went  down  town  to  a  hotel.  If  the  house  wasn't 
good  enough  for  Marie,  let  her  go.  He  could  go 
just  as  fast  and  as  far  as  she  could.  And  if  she 
thought  he  was  going  to  hot-foot  it  over  to  her 
mother's  and  whine  around  and  beg  her  to  come 
home,  she  had  another  think  coming. 

He  wouldn't  go  near  the  darn  place  again,  except 
to  get  his  clothes.  He'd  bust  up  the  joint,  by  thun 
der.  He'd  sell  off  the  furniture  and  turn  the  house 
over  to  the  agent  again,  and  Marie  could  whistle 
for  a  home.  She  had  been  darn  glad  to  get  into 
that  house,  he  remembered,  and  away  from  that 
old  cat  of  a  mother.  Let  her  stay  there  now  till 
she  was  darn  good  and  sick  of  it.  He'd  just  keep 
her  guessing  for  awhile ;  a  week  or  so  would  do  her 
good.  Well,  he  wouldn't  sell  the  furniture  —  he'd 
just  move  it  into  another  house,  and  give  her  a 
darn  good  scare.  He'd  get  a  better  one,  that  had  a 
porcelain  bathtub  instead  of  a  zinc  one,  and  a  better 
porch,  where  the  kid  could  be  out  in  the  sun. 

Yes,  sir,  he'd  just  do  that  little  thing,  and  lay  low 
and  see  what  Marie  did  about  that.  Keep  her  guess 
ing  —  that  was  the  play  to  make. 

19 


CABIN  FEVER 

Unfortunately  for  his  domestic  happiness,  Bud 
failed  to  take  into  account  two  very  important  fac 
tors  in  the  quarrel.  The  first  and  most  important 
one  was  Marie's  mother,  who,  having  been  a  widow 
for  fifteen  years  and  therefore  having  acquired  a 
habit  of  managing  affairs  that  even  remotely  con 
cerned  her,  assumed  that  Marie's  affairs  must  be 
managed  also.  The  other  factor  was  Marie's  crav 
ing  to  be  coaxed  back  to  smiles  by  the  man  who 
drove  her  to  tears.  Marie  wanted  Bud  to  come 
and  say  he  was  sorry,  and  had  been  a  brute  and  so 
forth.  She  wanted  to  hear  him  tell  how  empty  the 
house  had  seemed  when  he  returned  and  found  her 
gone.  She  wanted  him  to  be  good  and  scared  with 
that  letter.  She  stayed  awake  until  after  midnight, 
listening  for  his  anxious  footsteps;  after  midnight 
she  stayed  awake  to  cry  over  the  inhuman  way  he 
was  treating  her,  and  to  wish  she  was  dead,  and 
so  forth;  also  because  the  baby  woke  and  wanted 
his  bottle,  and  she  was  teaching  him  to  sleep  all 
night  without  it,  and  because  the  baby  had  a  temper 
just  like  his  father. 

His  father's  temper  would  have  yielded  a  point 
20 


TWO  MAKE  A  QUARREL 

or  two,  the  next  day,  had  it  been  given  the  least 
encouragement.  For  instance,  he  might  have  gone 
over  to  see  Marie  before  he  moved  the  furniture  out 
of  the  house,  had  he  not  discovered  an  express  wagon 
standing  in  front  of  the  door  when  he  went  home 
about  noon  to  see  if  Marie  had  come  back.  Before 
he  had  recovered  to  the  point  of  profane  speech,  the 
expressman  appeared,  coming  out  of  the  house,  bent 
nearly  double  under  the  weight  of  Marie's  trunk. 
Behind  him  in  the  doorway  Bud  got  a  glimpse  of 
Marie's  mother. 

That  settled  it.  Bud  turned  around  and  hurried 
to  the  nearest  drayage  company,  and  ordered  a  do 
mestic  wrecking  crew  to  the  scene;  in  other  words, 
a  packer  and  two  draymen  and  a  dray.  He'd  show 
'em.  Marie  and  her  mother  couldn't  put  anything 
over  on  him  —  he'd  stand  over  that  furniture  with 
a  sheriff  first. 

He  went  back  and  found  Marie's  mother  still 
there,  packing  dishes  and  doilies  and  the  like.  They 
had  a  terrible  row,  and  all  the  nearest  neighbors  in 
clined  ears  to  doors  ajar  —  getting  an  earful,  as  Bud 
contemptuously  put  it.  He  finally  led  Marie's 

21 


CABIN  FEVER 

mother  to  the  front  door  and  set  her  firmly  outside. 
Told  her  that  Marie  had  come  to  him  with  no  more 
than  the  clothes  she  had,  and  that  his  money  had 
bought  every  teaspoon  and  every  towel  and  every 
stick  of  furniture  in  the  darned  place,  and  he'd 
he  everlastingly  thus-and-so  if  they  were  going  to 
strong-arm  the  stuff  off  him  now.  If  Marie  was 
too  good  to  live  with  him,  why,  his  stuff  was  too  good 
for  her  to  have. 

Oh,  yes,  the  neighbors  certainly  got  an  earful,  as 
the  town  gossips  proved  when  the  divorce  suit  seeped 
into  the  papers.  Bud  refused  to  answer  the  pro 
ceedings,  and  was  therefore  ordered  to  pay  twice 
as  much  alimony  as  he  could  afford  to  pay ;  more,  in 
fact,  than  all  his  domestic  expense  had  amounted 
to  in  the  fourteen  months  that  he  had  been  mar 
ried.  Also  Marie  was  awarded  the  custody  of  the 
child  and,  because  Marie's  mother  had  represented 
Bud  to  be  a  violent  man  who  was  a  menace  to  her 
daughter's  safety  —  and  proved  it  by  the  neighbors 
who  had  seen  and  heard  so  much  —  Bud  was  served 
with  a  legal  paper  that  wordily  enjoined  him  from 
annoying  Marie  with  his  presence. 

22 


TWO  MAKE  A  QUARREL 

That  unnecessary  insult  snapped  the  last  thread 
of  Bud's  regret  for  what  had  happened.  He  sold 
the  furniture  and  the  automobile,  took  the  money 
to  the  judge  that  had  tried  the  case,  told  the  judge 
a  few  wholesome  truths,  and  laid  the  pile  of  money 
on  the  desk. 

"  That  cleans  me  out,  Judge,"  he  said  stolidly. 
"  I  wasn't  such  a  bad  husband,  at  that.  I  got  sore 
—  but  I'll  bet  you  get  sore  yourself  and  tell  your 
wife  what-for,  now  and  then.  I  didn't  get  a  square 
deal,  but  that's  all  right.  I'm  giving  a  better  deal 
than  I  got.  Now  you  can  keep  that  money  and  pay 
it  out  to  Marie  as  she  needs  it,  for  herself  and  the 
kid.  But  for  the  Lord's  sake,  Judge,  don't  let  that 
wildcat  of  a  mother  of  hers  get  her  fingers  into  the 
pile!  She  framed  this  deal,  thinking  she'd  get  a 
haul  outa  me  this  way.  I'm  asking  you  to  block 
that  little  game.  I've  held  out  ten  dollars,  to  eat  on 
till  I  strike  something.  I'm  clean;  they've  licked 
the  platter  and  broke  the  dish.  So  don't  never  ask 
me  to  dig  up  any  more,  because  I  won't  —  not  for 
you  nor  no  other  darn  man.  Get  that." 

This,  you  must  know,  was  not  in  the  courtroom, 
23 


CABIN  FEVER 

so  Bud  was  not  fined  for  contempt.  The  judge  was 
a  married  man  himself,  and  he  may  have  had  a 
sympathetic  understanding  of  Bud's  position.  At 
any  rate  he  listened  unofficially,  and  helped  Bud  out 
with  the  legal  part  of  it,  so  that  Bud  walked  out 
of  the  judge's  office  financially  free,  even  though  he 
had  a  suspicion  that  his  freedom  would  not  bear 
the  test  of  prosperity,  and  that  Marie's  mother  would 
let  him  alone  only  so  long  as  he  and  prosperity  were 
strangers. 


CHAPTER  THREE 

TEN  DOLLAES  AND  A  JOB  FOE  BUD 

TO  withhold  for  his  own  start  in  life  only  one 
ten-dollar  bill  from  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
was  spectacular  enough  to  soothe  even  so  bruised  an 
ego  as  Bud  Moore  carried  into  the  judge's  office. 
There  is  an  anger  which  carries  a  person  to  the  ex 
treme  of  self-sacrifice,  in  the  subconscious  hope  of 
exciting  pity  for  one  so  hardly  used.  Bud  was  boil 
ing  with  such  an  anger,  and  it  demanded  that  he 
should  all  but  give  Marie  the  shirt  off  his  back, 
since  she  had  demanded  so  much  —  and  for  so  slight 
a  cause. 

Bud  could  not  see  for  the  life  of  him  why  Marie 
should  have  quit  for  that  little  ruction.  It  was  not 
their  first  quarrel,  nor  their  worst;  certainly  he  had 
not  expected  it  to  be  their  last.  Why,  he  asked  the 
high  heavens,  had  she  told  him  to  bring  home  a  roll 
of  cotton,  if  she  was  going  to  leave  him  ?  Why  had 
she  turned  her  back  on  that  little  home,  that  had 

25 


CABIN  FEVER 

seemed  to  mean  as  much  to  her  as  it  had  to  him? 

Being  kin  to  primitive  man,  Bud  could  only  bellow 
rage  when  he  should  have  analyzed  calmly  the  situ 
ation.  He  should  have  seen  that  Marie  too  had 
cahin  fever,  induced  by  changing  too  suddenly  from 
carefree  girlhood  to  the  ills  and  irks  of  wifehood 
and  motherhood.  He  should  have  known  that  she 
had  been  for  two  months  wholly  dedicated  to  the 
small  physical  wants  of  their  baby,  and  that  if  his 
nerves  were  fraying  with  watching  that  incessant 
servitude,  her  own  must  be  close  to  the  snapping 
point;  had  snapped,  when  dusk  did  not  bring  him 
home  repentant. 

But  he  did  not  know,  and  so  he  blamed  Marie 
bitterly  for  the  wreck  of  their  home,  and  he  flung 
down  all  his  worldly  goods  before  her,  and  marched 
off  feeling  self-consciously  proud  of  his  martyrdom. 
It  soothed  him  paradoxically  to  tell  himself  that 
he  was  "  cleaned  " ;  that  Marie  had  ruined  him  ab 
solutely,  and  that  he  was  just  ten  dollars  and  a  decent 
suit  or  two  of  clothes  better  off  than  a  tramp.  He 
was  tempted  to  go  back  and  send  the  ten  dollars  after 
the  rest  of  the  fifteen  hundred,  but  good  sense  pre- 
26 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

vailed.  He  would  have  to  borrow  money  for  his 
next  meal,  if  he  did  that,  and  Bud  was  touchy  about 
such  things. 

He  kept  the  ten  dollars  therefore,  and  went  down 
to  the  garage  where  he  felt  most  at  home,  and  stood 
there  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  the  corners 
of  his  mouth  tipped  downward  —  normally  they  had 
a  way  of  tipping  upward,  as  though  he  was  secretly 
amused  at  something  —  and  his  eyes  sullen,  though 
they  carried  tiny  lines  at  the  corners  to  show  how 
they  used  to  twinkle.  He  took  the  ten-dollar  bank 
note  from  his  pocket,  straightened  out  the  wrinkles 
and  looked  at  it  disdainfully.  As  plainly  as  though 
he  spoke,  his  face  told  what  he  was  thinking  about 
it :  that  this  was  what  a  woman  had  brought  him  to ! 
He  crumpled  it  up  and  made  a  gesture  as  though  he 
would  throw  it  into  the  street,  and  a  man  behind 
him  laughed  abruptly.  Bud  scowled  and  turned  to 
ward  him  a  belligerent  glance,  and  the  man  stopped 
laughing  as  suddenly  as  he  had  begun. 

"  If  you've  got  money  to  throw  to  the  birds, 
brother,  I  guess  I  won't  make  the  proposition  I  was 
going  to  make.  Thought  I  could  talk  business  to 

27 


CABIN  FEVER 

you,  maybe  —  but  I  guess  I  better  tie  a  can  to  that 
idea." 

Bud  grunted  and  put  the  ten  dollars  in  his  pocket. 

"  What  idea's  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  driving  a  car  I'm  taking  south.  Sprained 
my  shoulder,  and  don't  feel  like  tackling  it  myself. 
They  tell  me  in  here  that  you  aren't  doing  anything 
now — "  He  made  the  pause  that  asks  for  an  an 
swer. 

"  They  told  you  right.     I've  done  it." 

The  man's  eyebrows  lifted,  but  since  Bud  did  not 
explain,  he  went  on  with  his  own  explanation. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  but  I  rode  into  Big 
Basin  with  you  last  summer.  I  know  you  can  drive, 
and  it  doesn't  matter  a  lot  whether  it's  asphalt  or 
cow  trail  you  drive  over." 

Bud  was  in  too  sour  a  mood  to  respond  to  the 
flattery.  He  did  not  even  grunt. 

"  Could  you  take  a  car  south  for  me  ?  There'll  be 
night  driving,  and  bad  roads,  maybe  — " 

"  If  you  know  what  you  say  you  know  about  my 
driving,  what's  the  idea  —  asking  me  if  I  can?  " 

"  Well,  put  it  another  way.     Will  you  ?  " 
28 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

"You're  on.  Where's  the  car?  Here?"  Bud 
sent  a  seeking  look  into  the  depths  of  the  garage.  He 
knew  every  car  in  there.  "  What  is  there  in  it  for 
me  ? "  he  added  perfunctorily,  because  he  would 
have  gone  just  for  sake  of  getting  a  free  ride  rather 
than  stay  in  San  Jose  over  night. 

"  There's  good  money  in  it,  if  you  can  drive  with 
your  mouth  shut.  This  isn't  any  booster  parade. 
Fact  is  —  let's  walk  to  the  depot,  while  I  tell  you." 
He  stepped  out  of  the  doorway,  and  Bud  gloomily 
followed  him.  "  Little  trouble  with  my  wife,"  the 
man  explained  apologetically.  "Having  me  shad 
owed,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  I've  got 
business  south  and  want  to  be  left  alone  to  do  it. 
Darn  these  women !  "  he  exploded  suddenly. 

Bud  mentally  said  amen,  but  kept  his  mouth  shut 
upon  his  sympathy  with  the  sentiment. 

"  Foster's  my  name.  Now  here's  a  key  to  the  gar 
age  at  this  address."  He  handed  Bud  a  padlock  key 
and  an  address  scribbled  on  a  card.  "  That's  my 
place  in  Oakland,  out  by  Lake  Merritt.  You  go 
there  to-night,  get  the  car,  and  have  it  down  at  the 
Broadway  Wharf  to  meet  the  11 :30  boat  —  the  one 

29 


CABIN  FEVER 

the  theater  crowd  uses.  Have  plenty  of  gas  and  oil ; 
there  won't  be  any  stops  after  we  start.  Park  out 
pretty  well  near  the  shore  end  as  close  as  you  can 
get  to  that  ten-foot  gum  sign,  and  be  ready  to  go 
when  I  climb  in.  I  may  have  a  friend  with  me. 
You  know  Oakland  ?  " 

"  Fair  to  middling.  I  can  get  around  by  myself." 
"Well,  that's  all  right.  I've  got  to  go  back  to 
the  city  —  catching  the  next  train.  You  better  take 
the  two-fifty  to  Oakland.  Here's  money  for  what 
ever  expense  there  is.  And  say!  put  these  number 
plates  in  your  pocket,  and  take  off  the  ones  on  the 
car.  I  bought  these  of  a  fellow  that  had  a  smash  — 
they'll  do  for  the  trip.  Put  them  on,  will  you? 
She's  wise  to  the  car  number,  of  course.  Put  the 
plates  you  take  off  under  the  seat  cushion;  don't 
leave  'em.  Be  just  as  careful  as  if  it  was  a  life-and- 
death  matter,  will  you  ?  I've  got  a  big  deal  on,  down 
there,  and  I  don't  want  her  spilling  the  beans  just 
to  satisfy  a  grudge  —  which  she  would  do  in  a  min 
ute.  So  don't  fail  to  be  at  the  ferry,  parked  so  you 
can  slide  out  easy.  Get  down  there  by  that  big  gum 
sign.  I'll  find  you,  all  right." 

30 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

"  I'll  be  there."     Bud  thrust  the  key  and  another 
ten  dollars  into  his  pocket  and  turned  away. 
"  And  don't  say  anything  — " 
"  Do  I  look  like  an  open-faced  guy  ?  " 
The  man  laughed.     "  Not  much,  or  I  wouldn't 
have  picked  you  for  the  trip."     He  hurried  down  to 
the  depot  platform,  for  his  train  was  already  whis 
tling,  farther  down  the  yards. 

Bud  looked  after  him,  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
taking  their  normal,  upward  tilt.  It  began  to  look 
as  though  luck  had  not  altogether  deserted  him,  in 
spite  of  the  recent  blow  it  had  given.  He  slid  the 
wrapped  number  plates  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his 
overcoat,  pushed  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets,  and 
walked  up  to  the  cheap  hotel  which  had  been  his 
bleak  substitute  for  a  home  during  his  trouble.  He 
packed  everything  he  owned  —  a  big  suitcase  held 
it  all  by  squeezing  —  paid  his  bill  at  the  office,  ac 
cepted  a  poor  cigar,  and  in  return  said,  yes,  he  was 
going  to  strike  out  and  look  for  work;  and  took 
the  train  for  Oakland. 

A  street  car  landed  him  within  two  blocks  of  the 
address  on  the  tag,  and  Bud  walked  through  thick- 

31 


.CABIN  FEVER 

ening  fog  and  dusk  to  the  place.  Foster  had  a  good- 
looking  house,  he  observed.  Set  back  on  the  middle 
of  two  lots,  it  was,  with  a  cement  drive  sloping  up 
from  the  street  to  the  garage  backed  against  the  alley. 
Under  cover  of  lighting  a  cigarette,  he  inspected  the 
place  before  he  ventured  farther.  The  blinds  were 
drawn  down  —  at  least  upon  the  side  next  the  drive. 
On  the  other  he  thought  he  caught  a  gleam  of  light 
at  the  rear ;  rather,  the  beam  that  came  from  a  gleam 
of  light  in  Foster's  dining  room  or  kitchen  shining 
on  the  next  house.  But  he  was  not  certain  of  it, 
and  the  absolute  quiet  reassured  him  so  that  he 
went  up  the  drive,  keeping  on  the  grass  border  until 
he  reached  the  garage.  This,  he  told  himself,  was 
just  like  a  woman  —  raising  the  deuce  around  so  that 
a  man  had  to  sneak  into  his  own  place  to  get  his  own 
car  out  of  his  own  garage.  If  Foster  was  up  against 
the  kind  of  deal  Bud  had  been  up  against,  he  sure 
had  Bud's  sympathy,  and  he  sure  would  get  the  best 
help  Bud  was  capable  of  giving  him. 

The  key  fitted  the  lock,  and  Bud  went  in,  set  down 
his  suitcase,  and  closed  the  door  after  him.  It  was 
dark  as  a  pocket  in  there,  save  where  a  square  of 

32 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

grayness  betrayed  a  window.  Bud  felt  his  way  to 
the  side  of  the  car,  groped  to  the  robe  rail,  found  a 
heavy,  fringed  robe,  and  curtained  the  window  until 
he  could  see  no  thread  of  light  anywhere ;  after  which 
he  ventured  to  use  his  flashlight  until  he  had  found 
the  switch  and  turned  on  the  light. 

There  was  a  little  side  door  at  the  back,  and  it 
was  fastened  on  the  inside  with  a  stout  hook.  Bud 
thought  for  a  minute,  took  a  long  chance,  and  let 
himself  out  into  the  yard,  closing  the  door  after 
him.  He  walked  around  the  garage  to  the  front  and 
satisfied  himself  that  the  light  inside  did  not  show. 
Then  he  went  around  the  back  of  the  house  and 
found  that  he  had  not  been  mistaken  about  the  light. 
The  house  was  certainly  occupied,  and  like  the  neigh 
boring  houses  seemed  concerned  only  with  the  dinner 
hour  of  the  inmates.  He  went  back,  hooked  the 
little  door  on  the  inside,  and  began  a  careful  inspec 
tion  of  the  car  he  was  to  drive. 

It  was  a  big,  late-modeled  touring  car,  of  the  kind 
that  sells  for  nearly  five  thousand  dollars.  Bud's 
eyes  lightened  with  satisfaction  when  he  looked  at  it. 
There  would  be  pleasure  as  well  as  profit  in  driving 

33 


CABIN  FEVER 

this  old  girl  to  Los  Angeles,  he  told  himself.  It 
fairly  made  his  mouth  water  to  look  at  her  standing 
there.  He  got  in  and  slid  behind  the  wheel  and 
fingered  the  gear  lever,  and  tested  the  clutch  and 
the  foot  brake  —  not  because  he  doubted  them,  but 
because  he  had  a  hankering  to  feel  their  smoothness 
of  operation.  Bud  loved  a  good  car  just  as  he  had 
loved  a  good  horse  in  the  years  behind  him.  Just 
as  he  used  to  walk  around  a  good  horse  and  pat  its 
sleek  shoulder  and  feel  the  hard  muscles  of  its  trim 
legs,  so  now  he  made  love  to  this  big  car.  Let  that 
old  hen  of  Foster's  crab  the  trip  south  ?  He  should 
sa-a-ay  not ! 

There  did  not  seem  to  be  a  thing  that  he  could 
do  to  her,  but  nevertheless  he  got  down  and  gave  all 
the  grease  cups  a  turn,  removed  the  number  plates 
and  put  them  under  the  rear  seat  cushion,  inspected 
the  gas  tank  and  the  oil  gauge  and  the  f  anbelt  and  the 
radiator,  turned  back  the  trip-milage  to  zero  —  pro 
fessional  driving  had  made  Bud  careful  as  a  taxi 
driver  about  recording  the  mileage  of  a  trip  — 
looked  at  the  clock  set  in  the  instrument  board,  and 
pondered. 

34 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

What  if  the  old  lady  took  a  notion  to  drive  some 
where?  She  would  miss  the  car  and  raise  a  hulla 
baloo,  and  maybe  crab  the  whole  thing  in  the  start. 
In  that  case,  Bud  decided  that  the  best  way  would 
be  to  let  her  go.  He  could  pile  on  to  the  empty 
trunk  rack  behind,  and  manage  somehow  to  get  off 
with  the  car  when  she  stopped.  Still,  there  was  not 
much  chance  of  her  going  out  in  the  fog  —  and  now 
that  he  listened,  he  heard  the  drip  of  rain.  No, 
there  was  not  much  chance.  Foster  had  not  seemed 
to  think  there  was  any  chance  of  the  car  being  in 
use,  and  Foster  ought  to  know.  He  would  wait  until 
about  ten-thirty,  to  play  safe,  and  then  go. 

Rain  spelled  skid  chains  to  Bud.  He  looked  in 
the  tool  box,  found  a  set,  and  put  them  on.  Then, 
because  he  was  not  going  to  take  any  chances,  he 
put  another  set,  that  he  found  hanging  up,  on  the 
front  wheels.  After  that  he  turned  out  the  light, 
took  down  the  robe  and  wrapped  himself  in  it,  and 
laid  himself  down  on  the  rear  seat  to  wait  for  ten- 
thirty. 

He  dozed,  and  the  next  he  knew  there  was  a 
fumbling  at  the  door  in  front,  and  the  muttering  of 

35 


CABIN  FEVER 

a  voice.  Bud  slid  noiselessly  out  of  the  car  and 
under  it,  head  to  the  rear  where  he  could  crawl  out 
quickly.  The  voice  sounded  like  a  man,  and  pres 
ently  the  door  opened  and  Bud  was  sure  of  it.  He 
caught  a  querulous  sentence  or  two. 

"  Door  left  unlocked  —  the  ignorant  hound  — 
Good  thing  I  don't  trust  him  too  far  — "  Some  one 
came  fumbling  in  and  switched  on  the  light.  "  Care 
less  hound  —  told  him  to  be  careful  —  never  even 
put  the  robe  on  the  rail  where  it  belongs  —  and  then 
they  howl  about  the  way  they're  treated!  Want 
more  wages  — -  don't  earn  what  they  do  get  — " 

Bud,  twisting  his  head,  saw  a  pair  of  slippered 
feet  beside  the  running  board.  The  owner  of  the 
slippers  was  folding  the  robe  and  laying  it  over  the 
rail,  and  grumbling  to  himself  all  the  while.  "  Have 
to  come  out  in  the  rain  —  daren't  trust  him  an  inch 
—  just  like  him  to  go  off  and  leave  the  door  un 
locked  — "  With  a  last  grunt  or  two  the  mumbling 
ceased.  The  light  was  switched  off,  and  Bud  heard 
the  doors  pulled  shut,  and  the  rattle  of  the  padlock 
and  chain.  He  waited  another  minute  and 
crawled  out. 

36 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

"  Might  have  told  me  there  was  a  father-in-law  in 
the  outfit/7  he  grumbled  to  himself.  "  Big  a  butt- 
in  as  Marie's  mother,  at  that.  Huh.  Never  saw  my 
suit  case,  never  noticed  the  different  numbers,  never 
got  next  to  the  chains  —  huh!  Eegular  old  he-hen, 
and  I  sure  don't  blame  Foster  for  wanting  to  tie  a 
can  to  the  bunch." 

Very  cautiously  he  turned  his  flashlight  on  the  face 
of  the  automobile  clock.  The  hour  hand  stood  a 
little  past  ten,  and  Bud  decided  he  had  better  go. 
He  would  have  to  fill  the  gas  tank,  and  get  more  oil, 
and  he  wanted  to  test  the  air  in  his  tires.  No  stops 
after  they  started,  said  Foster ;  Bud  had  set  his  heart 
on  showing  Foster  something  in  the  way  of  getting 
a  car  over  the  road. 

Father-in-law  would  holler  if  he  heard  the  car, 
but  Bud  did  not  intend  that  father-in-law  should  hear 
it.  He  would  much  rather  run  the  gauntlet  of  that 
driveway  than  wait  in  the  dark  any  longer.  He 
remembered  the  slope  down  to  the  street,  and 
grinned  contentedly.  He  would  give  father-in-law 
a  chance  to  throw  a  fit,  next  morning. 

He  set  his  suit  case  in  the  tonneau,  went  out  of 
37 


CABIN  FEVER 

the  little  door,  edged  around  to  the  front  and  very, 
very  cautiously  he  unlocked  the  big  doors  and  set 
them  open.  He  went  in  and  felt  the  front  wheels, 
judged  that  they  were  set  straight,  felt  around  the 
interior  until  his  fingers  touched  a  block  of  wood  and 
stepped  off  the  approximate  length  of  the  car  in 
front  of  the  garage,  allowing  for  the  swing  of  the 
doors,  and  placed  the  block  there.  Then  he  went 
back,  eased  off  the  emergency  brake,  grabbed  a  good 
handhold  and  strained  forward. 

The  chains  hindered,  but  the  floor  sloped  to  the 
front  a  trifle,  which  helped.  In  a  moment  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  feeling  the  big  car  give,  then  roll 
slowly  ahead.  The  front  wheels  dipped  down  over 
the  threshold,  and  Bud  stepped  upon  the  running 
board,  took  the  wheel,  and  by  instinct  more  than 
by  sight  guided  her  through  the  doorway  without  a 
scratch.  She  rolled  forward  like  a  black  shadow 
until  a  wheel  jarred  against  the  block,  whereupon 
he  set  the  emergency  brake  and  got  off,  breathing 
free  once  more.  He  picked  up  the  block  and  carried 
it  back,  quietly  closed  the  big  doors  and  locked  them, 
taking  time  to  do  it  silently.  Then,  in  a  glow  of 

38 


TEN  DOLLARS  AND  A  JOB 

satisfaction  with  his  work,  he  climbed  slowly  into  the 
car,  settled  down  luxuriously  in  the  driver's  seat, 
eased  off  the  brake,  and  with  a  little  lurch  of  his 
body  forward  started  the  car  rolling  down  the  drive 
way. 

There  was  a  risk,  of  course,  in  coasting  out  on  to 
the  street  with  no  lights,  but  he  took  it  cheerfully, 
planning  to  dodge  if  he  saw  the  lights  of  another 
car  coming.  It  pleased  him  to  remember  that  the 
street  inclined  toward  the  bay.  He  rolled  past  the 
house  without  a  betraying  sound,  dipped  over  the 
curb  to  the  asphalt,  swung  the  car  townward,  and 
coasted  nearly  half  a  block  with  the  ignition  switch 
on  before  he  pushed  up  the  throttle,  let  in  his  clutch, 
and  got  the  answering  chug-chug  of  the  engine. 
With  the  lights  on  full  he  went  purring  down  the 
street  in  the  misty  fog,  pleased  with  himself  and  his 
mission. 


39 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

HEAD    SOUTH    AND    KEEP    GOING 

AT  a  lunch  wagon  down  near  the  water  front, 
Bud  stopped  and  bought  two  "  hot  dog  "  sand 
wiches  and  a  mug  of  hot  coffee  boiled  with  milk  in 
it  and  sweetened  with  three  cubes  of  sugar.  "  O-oh, 
boy!  "  he  ejaculated  gleefully  when  he  set  his  teeth 
into  biscuit  and  hot  hamburger.  Leaning  back  lux 
uriously  in  the  big  car,  he  ate  and  drank  until  he 
could  eat  and  drink  no  more.  Then,  with  a  bag  of 
bananas  on  the  seat  beside  him,  he  drove  on  down  to 
the  mole,  searching  through  the  drizzle  for  the  big 
gum  sign  which  Foster  had  named.  Just  even  with 
the  coughing  engine  of  a  waiting  through  train  he 
saw  it,  and  backed  in  against  the  curb,  pointing  the 
car's  radiator  toward  the  mainland.  He  had  still 
half  an  hour  to  wait,  and  he  buttoned  on  the  curtains 
of  the  car,  since  a  wind  from  across  the  bay  was 
sending  the  drizzle  slantwise;  moreover  it  occurred 
to  him  that  Foster  would  not  object  to  the  conceal- 

40 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

merit   while   they   were   passing   through    Oakland. 
Then  he  listlessly  ate  a  banana  while  he  waited. 

The  hoarse  siren  of  a  ferryboat  bellowed  through 
the  murk.  Bud  started  the  engine,  throttled  it  down 
to  his  liking,  and  left  it  to  warm  up  for  the  flight. 
He  ate  another  banana,  thinking  lazily  that  he  wished 
he  owned  this  car.  For  the  first  time  in  many  a  day 
his  mind  was  not  filled  and  boiling  over  with  his 
trouble.  Marie  and  all  the  bitterness  she  had  come 
to  mean  to  him  receded  into  the  misty  background 
of  his  mind  and  hovered  there,  an  indistinct  mem 
ory  of  something  painful  in  his  life. 

A  street  car  slipped  past,  bobbing  down  the  track 
like  a  duck  sailing  over  ripples.  A  local  train 
clanged  down  to  the  depot  and  stood  jangling  its 
bell  while  it  disgorged  passengers  for  the  last  boat 
to  the  City  whose  wall  of  stars  was  hidden  behind 
the  drizzle  and  the  clinging  fog.  People  came 
straggling  down  the  sidewalk  —  not  many,  for  few 
had  business  with  the  front  end  of  the  waiting  trains. 
Bud  pushed  the  throttle  up  a  little.  His  fingers 
dropped  down  to  the  gear  lever,  his  foot  snuggled 
against  the  clutch  pedal. 

41 


CABIN  FEVER 

Feet  came  hurrying.  Two  voices  mumbled  to 
gether.  "  Here  he  is,"  said  one.  "  That's  the  num 
ber  I  gave  him."  Bud  felt  some  one  step  hurriedly 
upon  the  running  board.  The  tonneau  door  was 
yanked  open.  A  man  puffed  audibly  behind  him. 
"  Yuh  ready  ?  "  Foster's  voice  hissed  in  Bud's  ear. 

"  E'aring  to  go."  Bud  heard  the  second  man  get 
in  and  shut  the  door,  and  he  jerked  the  gear  lever 
into  low.  His  foot  came  gently  back  with  the  clutch, 
and  the  car  slid  out  and  away. 

Foster  settled  back  on  the  cushions  with  a  sigh. 
The  other  man  was  fumbling  the  side  curtains, 
swearing  under  his  breath  when  his  fingers  bungled 
the  fastenings. 

"  Everything  all  ready  ? "  Foster's  voice  was 
strident  with  anxiety. 

"  Sure  thing." 

"  Well,  head  south  —  any  road  you  know  best. 
And  keep  going,  till  I  tell  you  to  stop.  How's  the 
oil  and  gas  ?  " 

"  Full  up.  Gas  enough  for  three  hundred  miles. 
Extra  gallon  of  oil  in  the  car.  What  d'yah  want 
—  the  speed  limit  through  town  ?  " 

42 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

"Nat.  Side  streets,  if  you  know  any.  They 
might  get  quick  action  and  telephone  ahead.'' 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  brother." 

Bud  did  not  know  for  sure,  never  having  been 
pursued;  but  it  seemed  to  him  that  a  straightaway 
course  down  a  main  street  where  other  cars  were 
scudding  homeward  would  be  the  safest  route,  be 
cause  the  simplest.  He  did  not  want  any  side 
streets  in  his,  he  decided  —  and  maybe  run  into  a 
mess  of  street-improvement  litter,  and  have  to  back 
trail  around  it.  He  held  the  car  to  a  hurry-home 
pace  that  was  well  within  the  law,  and  worked  into 
the  direct  route  to  Hayward.  He  sensed  that  either 
Foster  or  his  friend  turned  frequently  to  look  back 
through  the  square  celluloid  window,  but  he  did  not 
pay  much  attention  to  them,  for  the  streets  were 
greasy  with  wet,  and  not  all  drivers  would  equip 
with  four  skid  chains.  Keeping  sharp  lookout  for 
skidding  cars  and  unexpected  pedestrians  and  street 
car  crossings  and  the  like  fully  occupied  Bud. 

For  all  that,  an  occasional  mutter  came  unheeded 
to  his  ears,  the  closed  curtains  preserving  articulate 
sounds  like  room  walls. 

43 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  He's  all  right,"  he  heard  Foster  whisper  once. 
"  Better  than  if  he  was  in  on  it."  He  did  not  know 
that  Foster  was  speaking  of  him. 

"  —  if  he  gets  next,"  the  friend  mumbled. 

"Ah,  quit  your  worrying,"  Foster  grunted. 
"  The  trick's  turned ;  that's  something." 

Bud  was  under  the  impression  that  they  were 
talking  ahout  father-in-law,  who  had  called  Foster 
a  careless  hound ;  but  whether  they  were  or  not  con 
cerned  him  so  little  that  his  own  thoughts  never 
flagged  in  their  shuttle-weaving  through  his  mind. 
The  mechanics  of  handling  the  big  car  and  getting 
the  best  speed  out  of  her  with  the  least  effort  and 
risk,  the  tearing  away  of  the  last  link  of  his  past  hap 
piness  and  his  grief;  the  feeling  that  this  night  was 
the  real  parting  between  him  and  Marie,  the  real 
stepping  out  into  the  future ;  the  future  itself,  blank 
beyond  the  end  of  this  trip,  these  were  quite  enough 
to  hold  Bud  oblivious  to  the  conversation  of 
strangers. 

At  dawn  they  neared  a  little  village.  Through 
this  particular  county  the  road  was  unpaved  and 
muddy,  and  the  car  was  a  sight  to  behold.  The  only 

44 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

clean  spot  was  on  the  windshield,  where  Bud  had 
reached  around  once  or  twice  with  a  handful  of 
waste  and  cleaned  a  place  to  see  through.  It  was 
raining  soddenly,  steadily,  as  though  it  always  had 
rained  and  always  would  rain. 

Bud  turned  his  face  slightly  to  one  side.  "  How 
about  stopping;  I'll  have  to  feed  her  some  oil  — 
and  it  wouldn't  hurt  to  fill  the  gas  tank  again. 
These  heavy  roads  eat  up  a  lot  of  extra  power. 
What's  her  average  mileage  on  a  gallon,  Foster  ? " 

"  How  the  deuce  should  I  know  3  "  Foster  snapped, 
just  coming  out  of  a  doze. 

"  You  ought  to  know,  with  your  own  car  —  and 
gas  costing  what  it  does." 

"  Oh !  —  ah  —  what  was  it  you  asked  ?  "  Foster 
yawned  aloud.  "I  musta  been  asleep." 

"  I  guess  you  musta  been,  all  right,"  Bud  grunted. 
"  Do  you  want  breakfast  here,  or  don't  you  ?  I've 
got  to  stop  for  gas  and  oil;  that's  what  I  was  ask 
ing?" 

The  two  consulted  together,  and  finally  told  Bud 
to  stop  at  the  first  garage  and  get  his  oil  and  gas. 
After  that  he  could  drive  to  a  drug  store  and  buy  a 

45 


CABIN  FEVER 

couple  of  thermos  bottles,  and  after  tliat  he  could 
go  to  the  nearest  restaurant  and  get  the  bottles  filled 
with  black  coffee,  and  have  lunch  put  up  for  six 
people.  Foster  and  his  friend  would  remain  in  the 
car. 

Bud  did  these  things,  revising  the  plan  to  the 
extent  of  eating  his  own  breakfast  at  the  counter  in 
the  restaurant  while  the  lunch  was  being  prepared  in 
the  kitchen. 

From  where  he  sat  he  could  look  across  at  the 
muddy  car  standing  before  a  closed  millinery-and- 
drygoods  store.  It  surely  did  not  look  much  like 
the  immaculate  machine  he  had  gloated  over  the 
evening  before,  but  it  was  a  powerful,  big  brute  of  a 
car  and  looked  its  class  in  every  line.  Bud  was 
proud  to  drive  a  car  like  that.  The  curtains  were 
buttoned  down  tight,  and  he  thought  amusedly  of  the 
two  men  huddled  inside,  shivering  and  hungry,  yet 
refusing  to  come  in  and  get  warmed  up  with  a  de 
cent  breakfast.  Foster,  he  thought,  must  certainly 
be  scared  of  his  wife,  if  he  daren't  show  himself  in 
this  little  rube  town.  For  the  first  time  Bud  had  a 
vagrant  suspicion  that  Foster  had  not  told  quite  all 

46 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

there  was  to  tell  about  this  trip.  Bud  wondered  now 
if  Foster  was  not  going  to  meet  a  "  Jane  "  some 
where  in  the  South.  That  terrifying  Mann  Act 
would  account  for  his  caution  much  better  than 
would  the  business  deal  of  which  Foster  had  hinted. 

Of  course,  Bud  told  himself  while  the  waiter  re 
filled  his  coffee  cup,  it  was  none  of  his  business  what 
Foster  had  up  his  sleeve.  He  wanted  to  get  some 
where  quickly  and  quietly,  and  Bud  was  getting  him 
there.  That  was  all  he  need  to  consider.  Warmed 
and  once  more  filled  with  a  sense  of  well-being,  Bud 
made  himself  a  cigarette  before  the  lunch  was  ready, 
and  with  his  arms  full  of  food  he  went  out  and 
across  the  street.  Just  before  he  reached  the  car 
one  of  the  thermos  bottles  started  to  slide  down  under 
his  elbow.  Bud  attempted  to  grip  it  against  his 
ribs,  but  the  thing  had  developed  a  slipperiness  that 
threatened  the  whole  load,  so  he  stopped  to  rearrange 
his  packages,  and  got  an  irritated  sentence  or  two 
from  his  passengers. 

"  Giving  yourself  away  like  that !  Why  couldn't 
you  fake  up  a  mileage?  Everybody  lies  or  guesses 
about  the  gas  — " 

47 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  Aw,  what's  the  difference  ?  The  simp  ain't 
next  to  anything.  He  thinks  I  own  it." 

"  Well,  don't  make  the  iristake  of  thinking  he's  a 
sheep.  Once  he  — " 

Bud  suddenly  remembered  that  he  wanted  some 
thing  more  from  the  restaurant,  and  returned  forth 
with,  slipping  thermos  bottle  and  all.  He  bought 
two  packages  of  chewing  gum  to  while  away  the 
time  when  he  could  not  handily  smoke,  and  when  he 
returned  to  the  car  he  went  muttering  disapproving 
remarks  about  the  rain  and  the  mud  and  the  bottles. 
He  poked  his  head  under  the  front  curtain  and  into 
a  glum  silence.  The  two  men  leaned  back  into  the 
two  corners  of  the  wide  seat,  with  their  heads  drawn 
down  into  their  coat  collars  and  their  hands  thrust 
under  the  robe.  Foster  reached  forward  and  took  a 
thermos  bottle,  his  partner  seized  another. 

"  Say,  you  might  get  us  a  bottle  of  good  whisky, 
too,"  said  Foster,  holding  out  a  small  gold  piece  be 
tween  his  gloved  thumb  and  finger.  "  Be  quick 
about  it  though  —  we  want  to  be  traveling.  Lord, 
it's  cold!" 

Bud  went  into  a  saloon  a  few  doors  up  the  street, 
48 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

and  was  back  presently  with  the  bottle  and  the 
change.  There  being  nothing  more  to  detain  them 
there,  he  kicked  some  of  the  mud  off  his  feet,  scraped 
off  the  rest  on  the  edge  of  the  running  board  and 
climbed  in,  fastening  the  curtain  against  the  storm. 
"Lovely  weather,"  he  grunted  sarcastically. 
"  Straight  on  to  Bakersfield,  huh  ?  " 

There  was  a  minute  of  silence  save  for  the  gur 
gling  of  liquid  running  out  of  a  bottle  into  an  eager 
mouth.  Bud  laid  an  arm  along  the  back  of  his  seat 
and  waited,  his  head  turned  toward  them.  "  Where 
are  you  fellows  going,  anyway  ? "  he  asked  im 
patiently. 

"  Los  An  — "  the  stranger  gurgled,  still  drinking. 

"  Yuma ! "  snapped  Foster.  "  You  shut  up, 
Mert.  I'm  running  this." 

"Better—" 

"  Yuma.  You  hit  the  shortest  trail  for  Yuma, 
Bud.  I'm  running  this." 

Foster  seemed  distinctly  out  of  humor.  He  told 
Mert  again  to  shut  up,  and  Mert  did  so  grumblingly, 
but  somewhat  diverted  and  consoled,  Bud  fancied, 
by  the  sandwiches  and  coffee  —  and  the  whisky  too, 

49 


CABIN  FEVER 

he  guessed.  For  presently  there  was  an  odor  from 
the  uncorked  bottle  in  the  car. 

Bud  started  and  drove  steadily  on  through  the 
rain  that  never  ceased.  The  big  car  warmed  his 
heart  with  its  perfect  performance,  its  smooth,  ef 
fortless  speed,  its  ease  of  handling.  He  had  driven 
too  long  and  too  constantly  to  tire  easily,  and  he  was 
almost  tempted  to  settle  down  to  sheer  enjoyment 
in  driving  such  a  car.  Last  night  he  had  enjoyed 
it,  but  last  night  was  not  to-day. 

He  wished  he  had  not  overheard  so  much,  or  else 
had  overheard  more.  He  was  inclined  to  regret  his 
retreat  from  the  acrimonious  voices  as  being  prema 
ture.  Just  why  was  he  a  simp,  for  instance  ?  Was 
it  because  he  thought  Foster  owned  the  car?  Bud 
wondered  whether  father-in-law  had  not  bought  it, 
after  all.  Now  that  he  began  thinking  from  a  dif 
ferent  angle,  he  remembered  that  father-in-law  had 
behaved  very  much  like  the  proud  possessor  of  a  new 
car.  It  really  did  not  look  plausible  that  he  would 
come  out  in  the  drizzle  to  see  if  Foster's  car  was 
safely  locked  in  for  the  night.  There  had  been, 
too,  a  fussy  fastidiousness  in  the  way  the  robe  had 

50 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

been  folded  and  hung  over  the  rail.  No  man  would 
do  that  for  some  other  man's  property,  unless  he 
was  paid  for  it. 

Wherefore,  Bud  finally  concluded  that  Foster  was 
not  above  helping  himself  to  family  property.  On 
the  whole,  Bud  did  not  greatly  disapprove  of  that; 
he  was  too  actively  resentful  of  his  own  mother-in- 
law.  He  was  not  sure  but  he  might  have  done  some 
thing  of  the  sort  himself,  if  his  mother-in-law  had 
possessed  a  six-thousand-dollar  car.  Still,  such  a  car 
generally  means  a  good  deal  to  the  owner,  and  he 
did  not  wonder  that  Foster  was  nervous  about  it. 

But  in  the  back  of  his  mind  there  lurked  a  faint 
dissatisfaction  with  this  easy  explanation.  It  oc 
curred  to  him  that  if  there  was  going  to  be  any 
trouble  about  the  car,  he  might  be  involved  beyond 
the  point  of  comfort.  After  all,  he  did  not  know 
Foster,  and  he  had  no  more  reason  for  believing 
Foster's  story  than  he  had  for  doubting.  For  all  he 
knew,  it  might  not  be  a  wife  that  Foster  was  so 
afraid  of. 

Bud  was  not  stupid.  He  was  merely  concerned 
chiefly  with  his  own  affairs  —  a  common  enough 

51 


CABIN  FEVER 

failing,  surely.  But  now  that  he  had  thought  him 
self  into  a  mental  eddy  where  his  own  affairs 
offered  no  new  impulse  toward  emotion,  he  turned 
over  and  over  in  his  mind  the  mysterious  trip  he  was 
taking.  It  had  come  to  seem  just  a  little  too  mys 
terious  to  suit  him,  and  when  Bud  Moore  was  not 
suited  he  was  apt  to  do  something  ahout  it. 

What  he  did  in  this  case  was  to  stop  in  Bakers- 
field  at  a  garage  that  had  a  combination  drugstore 
and  news-stand  next  door.  He  explained  shortly  to 
his  companions  that  he  had  to  stop  and  buy  a  road 
map  and  that  he  wouldn't  be  long,  and  crawled  out 
into  the  rain.  At  the  open  doorway  of  the  garage 
he  turned  and  looked  at  the  car.  iNb,  it  certainly 
did  not  look  in  the  least  like  the  machine  he  had 
driven  down  to  the  Oakland  mole  —  except,  of  course, 
that  it  was  big  and  of  the  same  make.  It  might 
have  been  empty,  too,  for  all  the  sign  it  gave  of  being 
occupied.  Foster  and  Mert  evidently  had  no  inten 
tion  whatever  of  showing  themselves. 

Bud  went  into  the  drugstore,  remained  there  for 
five  minutes  perhaps,  and  emerged  with  a  morning 
paper  which  he  rolled  up  and  put  into  his  pocket. 

52 


HEAD  SOUTH  AND  KEEP  GOING 

He  had  glanced  through  its  feature  news,  and  had 
read  hastily  one  front-page  article  that  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  war,  but  told  about  the  dar 
ing  robbery  of  a  jewelry  store  in  San  Francisco  the 
night  before. 

The  safe,  it  seemed,  had  been  opened  almost  in 
plain  sight  of  the  street  crowds,  with  the  lights  full 
on  in  the  store.  A  clever  arrangement  of  two  mov 
able  mirrors  had  served  to  shield  the  thief  —  or 
thieves.  For  no  longer  than  two  or  three  minutes, 
it  seemed,  the  lights  had  been  off,  and  it  was  thought 
that  the  raiders  had  used  the  interval  of  darkness 
to  move  the  mirrors  into  position.  Which  went  far 
toward  proving  that  the  crime  had  been  carefully 
planned  in  advance.  Furthermore,  the  article 
stated  with  some  assurance  that  trusted  employes 
were  involved. 

Bud  also  had  glanced  at  the  news  items  of  less 
importance,  and  had  been  startled  enough  —  yet  not 
so  much  surprised  as  he  would  have  been  a  few 
hours  earlier  —  to  read,  under  the  caption:  DAK- 
ING  THIEF  STEALS  COSTLY  CAK,  to  learn 
that  a  certain  rich  man  of  Oakland  had  lost  his  new 

53 


CABIN  FEVER 

automobile.  The  address  of  the  bereaved  man  had 
been  given,  and  Bud's  heart  had  given  a  flop  when 
he  read  it.  The  details  of  the  theft  had  not  been 
told,  but  Bud  never  noticed  their  absence.  His 
memory  supplied  all  that  for  him  with  sufficient 
vividness. 

He  rolled  a  cigarette,  lighted  it,  and  with  the  paper 
stuffed  carelessly  into  his  pocket  he  went  to  the  car, 
climbed  in,  and  drove  on  to  the  south,  just  as 
matter-of-factly  as  though  he  had  not  just  then  dis 
covered  that  he,  Bud  Moore,  had  stolen  a  six-thou 
sand-dollar  automobile  the  night  before. 


54 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

BUD    CANNOT    PERFORM    MIRACLES 

THEY  went  on  and  on,  through  the  rain  and 
the  wind,  sometimes  through  the  mud  as  well, 
where  the  roads  were  not  paved.  Foster  had  almost 
pounced  upon  the  newspaper  when  he  discovered  it 
in  Bud's  pocket  as  he  climbed  in,  and  Bud  knew 
that  the  two  read  that  feature  article  avidly.  But 
if  they  had  any  comments  to  make,  they  saved  them 
for  future  privacy.  Beyond  a  few  muttered  sen 
tences  they  were  silent. 

Bud  did  not  care  whether  they  talked  or  not. 
They  might  have  talked  themselves  hoarse,  when  it 
came  to  that,  without  changing  his  opinions  or  his 
attitude  toward  them.  He  had  started  out  the  most 
unsuspecting  of  men,  and  now  he  was  making  up 
for  it  by  suspecting  Foster  and  Mert  of  being  rob 
bers  and  hypocrites  and  potential  murderers.  He 
could  readily  imagine  them  shooting  him  in  the  back 
of  the  head  while  he  drove,  if  that  would  suit  their 

55 


CABIN  FEVER 

purpose,  or  if  they  thought  that  he  suspected  them. 

He  kept  reviewing  his  performance  in  that  garage. 
Had  he  really  intended  to  steal  the  car,  he  would 
not  have  had  the  nerve  to  take  the  chances  he  had 
taken.  He  shivered  when  he  recalled  how  he  had 
slid  under  the  car  when  the  owner  came  in.  What 
if  the  man  had  seen  him  or  heard  him?  He  would 
be  in  jail  now,  instead  of  splashing  along  the  high 
way  many  miles  to  the  south.  For  that  matter,  he 
was  likely  to  land  in  jail,  anyway,  before  he  was 
done  with  Foster,  unless  he  did  some  pretty  close 
figuring.  Wherefore  he  drove  with  one  part  of 
his  brain,  and  with  the  other  he  figured  upon  how 
he  was  going  to  get  out  of  the  mess  himself  —  and 
land  Foster  and  Mert  deep  in  the  middle  of  it.  For 
such  was  his  vengeful  desire. 

After  an  hour  or  so,  when  his  stomach  began  to 
hint  that  it  was  eating  time  for  healthy  men,  he 
slowed  down  and  turned  his  head  toward  the  ton- 
neau.  There  they  were,  hunched  down  under  the 
robe,  their  heads  drawn  into  their  collars  like  two 
turtles  half  asleep  on  a  mud  bank. 

"  Say,  how  about  some  lunch  ? "  he  demanded. 
56 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

"  Maybe  you  fellows  can  get  along  on  whisky  and 
sandwiches,  but  I'm  doing  the  work;  and  if  you  no 
tice,  I've  been  doing  it  for  about  twelve  hours  now 
without  any  let-up.  There's  a  town  ahead  here 
a  ways  — " 

"  Drive  around  it,  then,"  growled  Foster,  lifting 
his  chin  to  stare  ahead  through  the  fogged  wind 
shield.  "We've  got  hot  coffee  here,  and  there's 
plenty  to  eat.  Enough  for  two  meals.  How  far 
have  we  come  since  we  started  ?  " 

"  Far  enough  to  be  called  crazy  if  we  go  much 
farther  without  a  square  meal,"  Bud  snapped.  Then 
he  glanced  at  the  rumpled  newspaper  and  added 
carelessly,  "  Anything  new  in  the  paper  ?  " 

"  No  I "  Mert  spoke  up  sharply.  "  Go  on. 
You're  doing  all  right  so  far  —  don't  spoil  it  by  lay 
ing  down  on  your  job !  " 

"  Sure,  go  on !  "  Foster  urged.  "  We'll  stop  when 
we  get  away  from  this  darn  burg,  and  you  can  rest 
your  legs  a  little  while  we  eat." 

Bud  went  on,  straight  through  the  middle  of  the 
town  without  stopping.  They  scurried  down  a  long, 
dismal  lane  toward  a  low-lying  range  of  hills  partly 

57 


CABIN  FEVER 

wooded  with  bald  patches  of  barren  earth  and  rock. 
Beyond  were  mountains  which  Bud  guessed  was  the 
Tehachapi  range.  Beyond  them,  he  believed  he 
would  find  desert  and  desertion.  He  had  never  been 
over  this  road  before,  so  he  could  no  more  than 
guess.  He  knew  that  the  ridge  road  led  to  Los  An 
geles,  and  he  did  not  want  anything  of  that  road. 
Too  many  travelers.  He  swung  into  a  decent-look 
ing  road  that  branched  off  to  the  left,  wondering 
where  it  led,  but  not  greatly  caring.  He  kept  that 
road  until  they  had  climbed  over  a  ridge  or  two  and 
were  in  the  mountains.  Soaked  wilderness  lay  all 
about  them,  green  in  places  where  grass  would  grow, 
brushy  in  places,  barren  and  scarred  with  outcrop 
ping  ledges,  pencilled  with  wire  fences  drawn  up 
over  high  knolls. 

In  a  sequestered  spot  where  the  road  hugged  close 
the  concave  outline  of  a  bushy  bluff,  Bud  slowed 
and  turned  out  behind  a  fringe  of  bushes,  and 
stopped. 

"  This  is  safe  enough,"  he  announced,  "  and  my 
muscles  are  kinda  crampy.  I'll  tell  the  world  that's 
been  quite  some  spell  of  straight  driving." 

58 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

Mert  grunted,  but  Foster  was  inclined  to  cheer 
fulness.  "  You're  some  driver,  Bud.  I've  got  to 
hand  it  to  you." 

Bud  grinned.  "  All  right,  I'll  take  it  —  half  of 
it,  anyway,  if  you  don't  mind.  You  must  remem 
ber  I  don't  know  you  fellows.  Most  generally  I 
collect  half  in  advance,  on  a  long  trip  like  this." 

Foster's  eyes  opened,  but  he  reached  obediently 
inside  his  coat.  Mert  growled  inaudible  comments 
upon  Bud's  nerve. 

"  Oh,  we  can't  kick,  Mert,"  Foster  smoothed  him 
down  diplomatically.  "  He's  delivered  the  goods, 
so  far.  And  he  certainly  does  know  how  to  put  a 
car  over  the  road.  He  don't  know  us,  remem 
ber!" 

Whereupon  Mert  grunted  again  and  subsided. 
Foster  extracted  a  bank  note  from  his  bill-folder, 
which  Bud  observed  had  a  prosperous  plumpness,  and 
held  it  out  to  Bud. 

"  I  guess  fifty  dollars  won't  hurt  your  feelings, 
will  it,  brother  ?  That's  more  than  you'd  charge  for 
twice  the  trip,  but  we  appreciate  a  tight  mouth,  and 
the  hurry-up  trip  you've  made  of  it,  and  all  that. 

59 


CABIN  FEVER 

It's  special  work,  and  we're  willing  to  pay  a  special 
price.  See  ? " 

"  Sure.  But  I  only  want  half,  right  now. 
Maybe,"  he  added  with  the  lurking  twinkle  in  his 
eyes,  "  I  won't  suit  yuh  quite  so  well  the  rest  of  the 
way.  I'll  have  to  go  b'-guess  and  b'-gosh  from  here 
on.  I've  got  some  change  left  from  what  I  bought 
for  yuh  this  morning  too.  Wait  till  I  check  up." 

Very  precisely  he  did  so,  and  accepted  enough 
from  Foster  to  make  up  the  amount. to  twenty-five 
dollars.  He  was  tempted  to  take  more.  For  one 
minute  he  even  contemplated  holding  the  two  up 
and  taking  enough  to  salve  his  hurt  pride  and  his 
endangered  reputation.  But  he  did  not  do  anything 
of  the  sort,  of  course ;  let's  believe  he  was  too  honest 
to  do  it  even  in  revenge  for  the  scurvy  trick  they 
had  played  him. 

He  ate  a  generous  lunch  of  sandwiches  and  dill 
pickles  and  a  wedge  of  tasteless  cocoanut  cake,  and 
drank  half  a  pint  or  so  of  the  hot,  black  coffee,  and 
felt  more  cheerful. 

"  Want  to  get  down  and  stretch  your  legs  ?  I've 
got  to  take  a  look  at  the  tires,  anyway  Thought  she 

60 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

was  riding  like  one  was  kinda   flat,   the  last  few 
miles." 

They  climbed  out  stiffly  into  the  rain,  stood  around 
the  car  and  stared  at  it  and  at  Bud  testing  his  tires, 
and  walked  off  down  the  road  for  a  little  distance 
where  they  stood  talking  earnestly  together.  From 
the  corner  of  his  eye  Bud  caught  Mert  tilting  his 
head  that  way,  and  smiled  to  himself.  Of  course 
they  were  talking  about  him!  Any  fool  would 
know  that  much.  Also  they  were  discussing  the 
best  means  of  getting  rid  of  him,  or  of  saddling  upon 
him  the  crime  of  stealing  the  car,  or  some  other 
angle  at  which  he  touched  their  problem. 

Under  cover  of  testing  the  rear  wheel  farthest 
from  them,  he  peeked  into  the  tonneau  and  took  a 
good  look  at  the  small  traveling  bag  they  had  kept 
on  the  seat  between  them  all  the  way.  He  wished  he 
dared  —  But  they  were  coming  back,  as  if  they 
would  not  trust  him  too  long  alone  with  that  bag. 
He  bent  again  to  the  tire,  and  when  they  climbed 
back  into  the  curtained  car  he  was  getting  the  pump 
tubing  out  to  pump  up  that  particular  tire  a  few 
pounds. 

61 


CABIN  FEVER 

They  did  not  pay  much  attention  to  him.  They 
seemed  preoccupied  and  not  too  friendly  with  each 
other,  Bud  thought.  Their  general  air  of  gloom  he 
could  of  course  lay  to  the  weather  and  the  fact  that 
they  had  been  traveling  for  about  fourteen  Lours 
without  any  rest ;  but  there  was  something  more  than 
that  in  the  atmosphere.  He  thought  they  had  dis 
agreed,  and  that  he  was  the  subject  of  their  dis 
agreement. 

He  screwed  down  the  valve  cap,  coiled  the  pump 
tube  and  stowed  it  away  in  the  tool  box,  opened  the 
gas  tank,  and  looked  in  —  and  right  there  he  did 
something  else;  something  that  would  have  spelled 
disaster  if  either  of  them  had  seen  him  do  it.  He 
spilled  a  handful  of  little  round  white  objects  like 
marbles  into  the  tank  before  he  screwed  on  the  cap, 
and  from  his  pocket  he  pulled  a  little  paper  box, 
crushed  it  in  his  hand,  and  threw  it  as  far  as  he 
could  into  the  bushes.  Then,  whistling  just  above 
his  breath,  which  was  a  habit  with  Bud  when  his 
work  was  going  along  pleasantly,  he  scraped  the 
mud  off  his  feet,  climbed  in,  and  drove  on  down  the 
road. 

62 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

The  big  car  picked  up  speed  on  the  down  grade, 
racing  along  as  though  the  short  rest  had  given  it  a 
fresh  enthusiasm  for  the  long  road  that  wound  in 
and  out  and  up  and  down  and  seemed  to  have  no 
end.  As  though  he  joyed  in  putting  her  over  the 
miles,  Bud  drove.  Came  a  hill,  he  sent  her  up  it 
with  a  devil-may-care  confidence,  swinging  around 
curves  with  a  squall  of  the  powerful  horn  that  made 
cattle  feeding  half  a  mile  away  on  the  slopes  lift 
their  startled  heads  and  look. 

"  How  much  longer  are  you  good  for,  Bud  ?  "  Fos 
ter  leaned  forward  to  ask,  his  tone  flattering  with 
the  praise  that  was  in  it. 

"  Me  ?  As  long  as  this  old  boat  will  travel,"  Bud 
flung  back  gleefully,  giving  her  a  little  more  speed 
as  they  rocked  over  a  culvert  and  sped  away  to  the 
next  hill.  He  chuckled,  but  Foster  had  settled  back 
again  satisfied,  and  did  not  notice. 

Halfway  up  the  next  hill  the  car  slowed  suddenly, 
gave  a  snort,  gasped  twice  as  Bud  retarded  the  spark 
to  help  her  out,  and  died.  She  was  a  heavy  car  to 
hold  on  that  stiff  grade,  and  in  spite  of  the  full 
emergency  brake  helped  out  with  the  service  brake, 

63 


CABIN  FEVER 

she  inched  backward  until  the  rear  wheels  came  full 
against  a  hump  across  the  road  and  held. 

Bud  did  not  say  anything ;  your  efficient  chauffeur 
reserves  his  eloquence  for  something  more  complex 
than  a  dead  engine.  He  took  down  the  curtain  on 
that  side,  leaned  out  into  the  rain  and  inspected  the 
road  behind  him,  shifted  into  reverse,  and  backed  to 
the  bottom. 

"  What's  wrong  ? "  Foster  leaned  forward  to  ask 
senselessly. 

"  When  I  hit  level  ground,  I'm  going  to  find  out," 
Bud  retorted,  still  watching  the  road  and  steering 
with  one  hand.  "  Does  the  old  girl  ever  cut  up  with 
you  on  hills  ?  " 

"Why  —  no.  She  never  has,"  Foster  answered 
dubiously. 

"  Reason  I  asked,  she  didn't  just  choke  down  from 
the  pull.  She  went  and  died  on  me." 

"  That's  funny,"  Foster  observed  weakly. 

On  the  level  Bud  went  into  neutral  and  pressed 
the  self-starter  with  a  pessimistic  deliberation.  He 
got  three  chugs  and  a  backfire  into  the  carburetor, 
and  after  that  silence.  He  tried  it  again,  coaxing 

64 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

her  with  the  spark  and  throttle.  The  engine  gave 
a  snort,  hesitated  and  then,  quite  suddenly,  began  to 
throb  with  docile  regularity  that  seemed  to  belie  any 
previous  intention  of  "  cutting  up." 

Bud  fed  her  the  gas  and  took  a  run  at  the  hill. 
She  went  up  like  a  thoroughbred  and  died  at  the 
top,  just  when  the  road  had  dipped  into  the  descent. 
Bud  sent  her  down  hill  on  compression,  but  at  the 
bottom  she  refused  to  find  her  voice  again  when  he 
turned  on  the  switch  and  pressed  the  accelerator. 
She  simply  rolled  down  to  the  first  incline  and 
stopped  there  like  a  balky  mule. 

"  Thunder ! "  said  Bud,  and  looked  around  at 
Foster.  "  Do  you  reckon  the  old  boat  is  jinxed,  just 
because  I  said  I  could  drive  her  as  far  as  she'd  go? 
The  old  rip  ain't  shot  a  cylinder  since  we  hit  the  top 
of  the  hill." 

"  Maybe  the  mixture  — " 

"Yeah,"  Bud  interrupted  with  a  secret  grin, 
"  I've  been  wondering  about  that,  and  the  needle 
valve,  and  the  feed  pipe,  and  a  few  other  little  things. 
Well,  we'll  have  a  look." 

Forthwith  he  climbed  out  into  the  drizzle  and  be- 
65 


CABIN  FEVER 

gan  a  conscientious  search  for  the  trouble.  He  in 
spected  the  needle-valve  with  much  care,  and  had 
Foster  on  the  front  seat  trying  to  start  her  after 
wards.  He  looked  for  short  circuit.  He  changed 
the  carburetor  adjustment,  and  Foster  got  a  weary 
chug-chug  that  ceased  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  begun. 
He  looked  all  the  spark  plugs  over,  he  went  after  the 
vacuum  feed  and  found  that  working  perfectly.  He 
stood  back,  finally,  with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and 
stared  at  the  engine  and  shook  his  head  slowly  twice. 

Foster,  in  the  driver's  seat,  swore  and  tried  again 
to  start  it.  "  Maybe  if  you  cranked  it,"  he  sug 
gested  tentatively. 

"  What  for  ?  The  starter  turns  her  over  all  right. 
Spark's  all  right  too,  strong  and  hot.  However  — " 
With  a  sigh  of  resignation  Bud  got  out  what  tools 
he  wanted  and  went  to  work.  Foster  got  out  and 
stood  around,  offering  suggestions  that  were  too  ob 
vious  to  be  of  much  use,  but  which  Bud  made  it  a 
point  to  follow  as  far  as  was  practicable. 

Foster  said  it  must  be  the  carburetor,  and  Bud 
went  relentlessly  after  the  carburetor.  He  im 
pressed  Foster  with  the  fact  that  he  knew  cars,  and 

66 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

when  he  told  Foster  to  get  in  and  try  her  again, 
Foster  did  so  with  the  air  of  having  seen  the  end 
of  the  trouble.  At  first  it  did  seem  so,  for  the  en 
gine  started  at  once  and  worked  smoothly  until  Bud 
had  gathered  his  wrenches  off  the  running  board 
and  was  climbing  it,  when  it  slowed  down  and 
stopped,  in  spite  of  Foster's  frantic  efforts  to  keep 
it  alive  with  spark  and  throttle. 

"  Good  Glory !  "  cried  Bud,  looking  reproachfully 
in  at  Foster.  "  What'd  yuh  want  to  stop  her 
for?" 

"  I  didn't !  "  Foster's  consternation  was  ample 
proof  of  his  innocence.  "  What  the  devil  ails  the 
thing?" 

"  You  tell  me,  and  I'll  fix  it,"  Bud  retorted  sav 
agely.  Then  he  smoothed  his  manner  and  went  back 
to  the  carburetor.  "  Acts  like  the  gas  kept  choking 
off,"  he  said,  "but  it  ain't  that.  She's  O.  K  I 
know,  'cause  I've  tested  it  clean  back  to  the  tank. 
There's  nothing  the  matter  with  the  feed  —  she's 
getting  gas  same  as  she,  has  all  along.  I  can  take  off 
the  mag.  and  see  if  anything's  wrong  there ;  but  I'm 
pretty  sure  there  ain't.  Couldn't  any  water  or  mud 

67 


CABIN  FEVER 

get  in  —  not  with  that  oil  pan  perfect.  She  looks 
dry  as  a  bone,  and  clean.  Try  her  again,  Foster; 
wait  till  I  set  the  spark  about  right.  Now,  you 
leave  it  there,  and  give  her  the  gas  kinda  gradual, 
and  catch  her  when  she  talks.  We'll  see  — " 

They  saw  that  she  was  not  going  to  "  talk  "  at  all. 
Bud  swore  a  little  and  got  out  more  tools  and  went 
after  the  magneto  with  grim  determination.  Again 
Foster  climbed  out  and  stood  in  the  drizzle  and 
watched  him.  Mert  crawled  over  into  the  front 
seat  where  he  could  view  the  proceedings  through 
the  windshield.  Bud  glanced  up  and  saw  him  there, 
and  grinned  maliciously.  "  Your  friend  seems  to 
love  wet  weather  same  as  a  cat  does,"  he  observed  to 
Foster.  "  He'll  be  terrible  happy  if  you're  stalled 
here  till  you  get  a  tow  in  somewhere." 

"  It's  your  business  to  see  that  we  aren't  stalled," 
Mert  snapped  at  him  viciously.  "  You've  got  to 
make  the  thing  go.  You've  got  to !  " 

"  Well,  I  ain't  the  Almighty,"  Bud  retorted  acidly. 
"  I  can't  perform  miracles  while  yuh  wait." 

"  Starting  a  cranky  car  doesn't  take  a  miracle," 
whined  Mert.  "  Anybody  that  knows  cars  — " 

68 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

"  She's  no  business  to  be  a  cranky  car,'7  Foster  in 
terposed  pacifically.  "  Why,  she's  practically  new !  " 
He  stepped  over  a  puddle  and  stood  beside  Bud, 
peering  down  at  the  silent  engine.  "  Have  you 
looked  at  the  intake  valve  ? "  he  asked  pathetic 
ally. 

"Why,  sure.  It's  all  right.  Everything's  all 
right,  as  far  as  I  can  find  out."  Bud  looked  Foster 
straight  in  the  eye  —  and  if  his  own  were  a  bit  anx 
ious,  that  was  to  be  expected.  "  Everything's  all 
right,"  he  added  measuredly.  "  Only,  she  won't 
go."  He  waited,  watching  Foster's  face. 

Foster  chewed  a  corner  of  his  lip  worriedly. 
"  Well,  what  do  you  make  of  it  ? "  His  tone  was 
helpless. 

Bud  threw  out  his  two  hands  expressively,  and 
shook  his  head.  He  let  down  the  hood,  climbed  in, 
slid  into  the  driver's  seat,  and  went  through  the  op 
eration  of  starting.  Only,  he  didn't  start.  The 
self-starter  hummed  as  it  spun  the  flywheel,  but  noth 
ing  whatever  was  elicited  save  a  profane  phrase  from 
Foster  and  a  growl  from  Mert.  Bud  sat  back  flaccid, 
his  whole  body  owning  defeat. 

69 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  Well,  that  means  a  tow  in  to  the  nearest  shop," 
he  stated,  after  a  minute  of  dismal  silence.  "  She's 
dead  as  a  doornail." 

Mert  sat  back  in  his  corner  of  the  seat,  muttering 
into  his  collar.  Foster  looked  at  him,  looked  at  Bud, 
looked  at  the  car  and  at  the  surrounding  hills.  He 
seemed  terribly  depressed  and  at  the  same  time  de 
termined  to  make  the  best  of  things.  Bud  could  al 
most  pity  him  —  almost. 

"  Do  you  know  how  far  it  is  back  to  that  town  we 
passed  ?  "  he  asked  Bud  spiritlessly  after  a  while. 

Bud  looked  at  the  speedometer,  made  a  mental  cal 
culation  and  told  him  it  was  fifteen  miles.  Towns, 
it  seemed,  were  rather  far  apart  in  this  section  of  the 
country. 

"  Well,  let's  see  the  road  map.  How  far  is  it  to 
the  next  one  ?  " 

"  Search  me.  They  didn't  have  any  road  maps 
back  there.  Darned  hick  burg." 

Foster  studied  awhile.  "  Well,  let's  see  if  we  can 
push  her  off  the  middle  of  the  road  —  and  then  I 
guess  we'll  have  to  let  you  walk  back  and  get  help. 
Eh,  Mert  ?  There's  nothing  else  we  can  do  — " 

70 


CANNOT  PERFORM  MIRACLES 

"  What  yuh  going  to  tell  'em  ?  "  Mert  demanded 
suspiciously. 

Bud  permitted  a  surprised  glance  to  slant  back  at 
Mert.  "  Why,  whatever  you  fellows  fake  up  for  me 
to  tell,"  he  said  naively.  "  I  know  the  truth  ain't 
popular  on  this  trip,  so  get  together  and  dope  out 
something.  And  hand  me  over  my  suit  case,  will 
yuh?  I  want  some  dry  socks  to  put  on  when  I  get 
there." 

Foster  very  obligingly  tilted  the  suit  case  over  into 
the  front  seat.  After  that  he  and  Mert,  as  by  a  com 
mon  thought  impelled,  climbed  out  and  went  over  to 
a  bushy  live  oak  to  confer  in  privacy.  Mert  car 
ried  the  leather  bag  with  him. 

By  the  time  they  had  finished  and  were  coming 
back,  Bud  had  gone  through  his  belongings  and  had 
taken  out  a  few  letters  that  might  prove  awkward  if 
found  there  later,  two  pairs  of  socks  and  his  razor 
and  toothbrush.  He  was  folding  the  socks  to  stow 
away  in  his  pocket  when  they  got  in. 

"  You  can  say  that  we're  from  Los  Angeles,  and 
on  our  way  home,"  Foster  told  him  curtly.  It  was 
evident  to  Bud  that  the  two  had  not  quite  agreed  upon 

71 


CABIN  FEVER 

some  subject  they  had  discussed.  "  That's  all  right. 
I'm  Foster,  and  he's  named  Brown  —  if  any  one  gets 
too  curious." 

"  Fine.  Fine  because  it's  so  simple.  I'll  eat  an 
other  sandwich,  if  you  don't  mind,  before  I  go.  I'll 
tell  a  heartless  world  that  fifteen  miles  is  some  little 
stroll  — •  for  a  guy  that  hates  walkin'." 

"  You're  paid  for  it,"  Mert  growled  at  him  rudely. 

"  Sure,  I'm  paid  for  it,"  Bud  assented  placidly, 
taking  a  bite.  They  might  have  wondered  at  his 
calm,  but  they  did  not.  He  ate  what  he  wanted,  took 
a  long  drink  of  the  coffee,  and  started  off  up  the  hill 
they  had  rolled  down  an  hour  or  more  past. 

He  walked  briskly,  and  when  he  was  well  out  of 
earshot  Bud  began  to  whistle.  ~Now  and  then  he 
stopped  to  chuckle,  and  sometimes  he  frowned  at  an 
uncomfortable  thought.  But  on  the  whole  he  was 
very  well  pleased  with  his  present  circumstances. 


72 


CHAPTEK  SIX 

BUD    TAKES    TO    THE    HILLS 

IN  a  little  village  which  he  had  glimpsed  from 
the  top  of  a  hill  Bud  went  into  the  cluttered 
little  general  store  and  bought  a  few  blocks  of  slim, 
evil  smelling  matches  and  a  couple  of  pounds  of  sliced 
bacon,  a  loaf  of  stale  bread,  and  two  small  cans  of 
baked  beans.  He  stuffed  them  all  into  the  pocket  of 
his  overcoat,  and  went  out  and  hunted  up  a  long-dis 
tance  telephone  sign.  It  had  not  taken  him  more 
than  an  hour  to  walk  to  the  town,  for  he  had  only  to 
follow  a  country  road  that  branched  off  that  way  for 
a  couple  of  miles  down  a  valley.  There  was  a  post 
office  and  the  general  store  and  a  couple  of  saloons 
and  a  blacksmith  shop  that  was  thinking  of  turning 
into  a  garage  but  had  gone  no  further  than  to  hang 
out  a  sign  that  gasoline  was  for  sale  there.  It  was 
all  very  sordid  and  very  lifeless  and  altogether  dis 
couraging  in  the  drizzle  of  late  afternoon.  Bud  did 
not  see  half  a  dozen  human  beings  on  his  way  to  the 

73 


CABIN  FEVER 

telephone   office,   which  he  found  was   in  the  post 
office. 

He  called  up  San  Francisco,  and  got  the  chief  of 
police's  office  on  the  wire,  and  told  them  where  they 
would  find  the  men  who  had  robhed  that  jewelry  store 
of  all  its  diamonds  and  some  other  unset  jewels. 
Also  he  mentioned  the  car  that  was  stolen,  and  that 
was  now  stalled  and  waiting  for  some  kind  soul  to 
come  and  give  it  a  tow. 

He  speedily  had  all  the  attention  of  the  chief,  and 
having  thought  out  in  advance  his  answers  to  certain 
pertinent  questions,  he  did  not  stutter  when  they 
were  asked.  Yes,  he  had  been  hired  to  drive  the 
car  south,  and  he  had  overheard  enough  to  make  him 
suspicious  on  the  way.  He  knew  that  they  had  stolen 
the  car.  He  was  not  absolutely  sure  that  they  were 
the  diamond  thieves,  but  it  would  be  easy  enough  to 
find  out,  because  officers  sent  after  them  would  nat 
urally  be  mistaken  for  first  aid  from  some  garage, 
and  the  cops  could  nab  the  men  and  look  into  that 
grip  they  were  so  careful  not  to  let  out  of  their 
sight. 

"  Are  you  sure  they  won't  get  the  car  repaired  and 
74 


BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS 

go  on  ?  "     It  was  perfectly  natural  that  the  chief 
should  fear  that  very  thing. 

"  No  chance !  "  Bud  chuckled  into  the  'phone. 
"  Not  a  chance  in  the  world,  chief.  They'll  be  right 
there  where  I  left  'em,  unless  some  car  comes  along 
and  gives  'em  a  tow.  And  if  that  happens  you'll  be 
able  to  trace  'em."  He  started  to  hang  up,  and  added 
another  bit  of  advice.  "  Say,  chief,  you  better  tell 
whoever  gets  the  car,  to  empty  the  gas  tank  and  clean 
out  the  carburetor  and  vacuum  feed  —  and  she'll  go, 
all  right !  Adios." 

He  hung  up  and  paid  the  charge  hurriedly,  and 
went  out  and  down  a  crooked  little  lane  that  led  be 
tween  bushes  to  a  creek  and  heavy  timber.  It  did 
not  seem  to  him  advisable  to  linger;  the  San  Fran 
cisco  chief  of  police  might  set  some  officer  in  that 
village  on  his  trail,  just  as  a  matter  of  precaution. 
Bud  told  himself  that  he  would  do  it  were  he  in  the 
chief's  place.  When  he  reached  the  woods  along  the 
creek  he  ran,  keeping  as  much  as  possible  on  thick 
leaf  mold  that  left  the  least  impression.  He  headed 
to  the  east,  as  nearly  as  he  could  judge,  and  when  he 
came  to  a  rocky  canyon  he  struck  into  it. 

75 


CABIN  FEVER 

He  presently  found  himself  in  a  network  of  small 
gorges  that  twisted  away  into  the  hills  without  any 
system  whatever,  as  far  as  he  could  see.  He  took 
one  that  seemed  to  lead  straightest  toward  where  the 
sun  would  rise  next  morning,  and  climbed  laboriously 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  hills.  After  awhile  he 
had  to  descend  from  the  ridge  where  he  found  him 
self  standing  bleakly  revealed  against  a  lowering, 
slaty  sky  that  dripped  rain  incessantly.  As  far  as 
he  could  see  were  hills  and  more  hills,  bald  and  bar 
ren  except  in  certain  canyons  whose  deeper  shadows 
told  of  timber.  Away  off  to  the  southwest  a  bright 
light  showed  briefly  —  the  headlight  of  a  Santa  Fe 
train,  he  guessed  it  must  be.  To  the  east  which  he 
faced  the  land  was  broken  with  bare  hills  that  fell 
just  short  of  being  mountains.  He  went  down  the 
first  canyon  that  opened  in  that  direction,  ploughing 
doggedly  ahead  into  the  unknown. 

That  night  Bud  camped  in  the  lee  of  a  bank  that 
was  fairly  well  screened  with  rocks  and  bushes,  and 
dined  off  broiled  bacon  and  bread  and  a  can  of  beans 
with  tomato  sauce,  and  called  it  a  meal.  At  first  he 
was  not  much  inclined  to  take  the  risk  of  having  a 

76 


BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS 

fire  big  enough  to  keep  him  warm.  Later  in  the 
night  he  was  perfectly  willing  to  take  the  risk,  but 
could  not  find  enough  dry  wood.  His  rainproofed 
overcoat  became  quite  soggy  and  damp  on  the  inside, 
in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  shield  himself  from  the  rain. 
It  was  not  exactly  a  comfortable  night,  but  he  wor 
ried  through  it  somehow. 

At  daylight  he  opened  another  can  of  beans  and 
made  himself  two  thick  bean  sandwiches,  and  walked 
on  while  he  ate  them  slowly.  They  tasted  mighty 
good,  Bud  thought  —  but  he  wished  fleetingly  that  he 
was  back  in  the  little  green  cottage  on  North  Sixth 
Street,  getting  his  own  breakfast.  He  felt  as  though 
he  could  drink  about  four  cups  of  coffee;  and  as  to 
hotcakes  — !  But  breakfast  in  the  little  green  cot 
tage  recalled  Marie,  and  Marie  was  a  bitter  memory. 
All  the  more  bitter  because  he  did  not  know  where 
burrowed  the  root  of  his  hot  resentment.  In  a  strong 
man's  love  for  his  home  and  his  mate  was  it  rooted, 
and  drew  therefrom  the  wormwood  of  love  thwarted 
and  spurned. 

After  awhile  the  high  air  currents  flung  aside  the 
clouds  like  curtains  before  a  doorway.  The  sunlight 

77 


CABIN  FEVER 

flashed  out  dazzlinglj  and  showed  Bud  that  the  world, 
even  this  tumbled  world,  was  good  to  look  upon.  His 
instincts  were  all  for  the  great  outdoors,  and  from 
such  the  sun  brings  quick  response.  Bud  lifted  his 
head,  looked  out  over  the  hills  to  where  a  bare  plain 
stretched  in  the  far  distance,  and  went  on  more 
briskly. 

He  did  not  meet  any  one  at  all;  but  that  was 
chiefly  because  he  did  not  want  to  meet  any  one.  He 
went  with  his  ears  and  his  eyes  alert,  and  was  not 
above  hiding1  behind  a  clump  of  stunted  bushes  when 
two  horsemen  rode  down  a  canyon  trail  just  below 
him.  Also  he  searched  for  roads  and  then  avoided 
them.  It  would  be  a  fat  morsel  for  Marie  and  her 
mother  to  roll  under  their  tongues,  he  told  himself 
savagely,  if  he  were  arrested  and  appeared  in  the 
papers  as  one  of  that  bunch  of  crooks ! 

Late  that  afternoon,  by  traveling  steadily  in  one 
direction,  he  topped  a  low  ridge  and  saw  an  arm  of 
the  desert  thrust  out  to  meet  him.  A  scooped  gulley 
with  gravelly  sides  and  rocky  bottom  led  down  that 
way,  and  because  his  feet  were  sore  from  so  much 
sidehill  travel,  Bud  went  down.  He  was  pretty  well 

78 


BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS 

fagged  too,  and  ready  to  risk  meeting  men,  if  thereby 
he  might  gain  a  square  meal.  Though  he  was  not 
starving,  or  anywhere  near  it,  he  craved  warm  food 
and  hot  coffee. 

So  when  he  presently  came  upon  two  sway-backed 
burros  that  showed  the  sweaty  imprint  of  packsaddles 
freshly  removed,  and  a  couple  of  horses  also  sweat- 
roughened,  he  straightway  assumed  that  some  one 
was  making  camp  not  far  away.  One  of  the  horses 
was  hobbled,  and  they  were  all  eating  hungrily  the 
grass  that  grew  along  the  gulley's  sides.  Camp  was 
not  only  close,  but  had  not  yet  reached  suppertime, 
Bud  guessed  from  the  well-known  range  signs. 

Two  or  three  minutes  proved  him  right.  He  came 
upon  a  man  just  driving  the  last  tent  peg.  He 
straightened  up  and  stared  at  Bud  unblinkingly  for  a 
few  seconds. 

"  Howdy,  howdy,"  he  greeted  him  then  with  tenta 
tive  friendliness,  and  went  on  with  his  work.  "  You 
lost  ?  "  he  added  carefully.  A  man  walking  down  out 
of  the  barren  hills,  and  carrying  absolutely  nothing 
in  the  way  of  camp  outfit,  was  enough  to  whet  the 
curiosity  of  any  one  who  knew  that  country.  At  the 

79 


CABIN  FEVER 

same  time  curiosity  that  became  too  apparent  might 
be  extremely  unwelcome.  So  many  things  may 
drive  a  man  into  the  hills  —  but  few  of  them  would 
bear  discussion  with  strangers. 

"  Yes.  I  am,  and  I  ain't."  Bud  came  up  and 
stood  with  his  hands  in  his  coat  pockets,  and  watched 
the  old  fellow  start  his  fire.. 

"  Yeah  —  how  about  some  supper  ?  If  you  am, 
and  you  ain't  as  hungry  as  you  look — " 

"  I'll  tell  the  world  I  am,  and  then  some.  I  ain't 
had  a  square  meal  since  yesterday  morning,  and  I 
grabbed  that  at  a  quick-lunch  joint.  I'm  open  to 
supper  engagements,  brother." 

"  All  right.  There's  a  side  of  bacon  in  that  kyack 
over  there.  Get  it  out  and  slice  some  off,  and  we'll 
have  supper  before  you  know  it.  We  will,"  he  added 
pessimistically,  "  if  this  dang  brush  will  burn." 

Bud  found  the  bacon  and  cut  according  to  his  ap 
petite.  His  host  got  out  a  blackened  coffeepot  and 
half  filled  it  with  water  from  a  dented  bucket,  and 
balanced  it  on  one  side  of  the  struggling  fire.  He 
remarked  that  they  had  had  some  rain,  to  which  Bud 
agreed.  He  added  gravely  that  he  believed  it  was 

80 


BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS 

going  to  clear  up,  though  —  unless  the  wind  swung 
back  into  the  storm  quarter.  Bud  again  professed 
cheerfully  to  be  in  perfect  accord.  After  which  con 
versational  sparring  they  fell  back  upon  the  little 
commonplaces  of  the  moment. 

Bud  went  into  a  brush  patch  and  managed  to  glean 
an  armful  of  nearly  dry  wood,  which  he  broke  up 
with  the  axe  and  fed  to  the  fire,  coaxing  it  into  freer 
blazing.  The  stranger  watched  him  unobtrusively, 
critically,  pottering  about  while  Bud  fried  the 
bacon. 

"  I  guess  you've  handled  a  frying  pan  before,  all 
right,"  he  remarked  at  last,  when  the  bacon  was  fried 
without  burning. 

Bud  grinned.  "  I  saw  one  in  a  store  window  once 
as  I  was  going  by,"  he  parried  facetiously.  "  That 
was  quite  a  while  back." 

"  Yeah.  Well,  how's  your  luck  with  bannock  ? 
I've  got  it  all  mixed." 

"  Dump  her  in  here,  ole-timer,"  cried  Bud,  hold 
ing  out  the  frying  pan  emptied  of  all  but  grease. 
"  Wish  I  had  another  hot  skillet  to  turn  over  the 
top." 

81 


CABIN  FEVER 

"I  guess  you've  been  there,  all  right,"  the  other 
chuckled.  "  Well,  I  don't  carry  but  the  one  frying 
pan.  I'm  equipped  light,  because  I've  got  to  outfit 
with  grub,  further  along." 

"Well,  we'll  make  out  all  right,  just  like  this." 
Bud  propped  the  handle  of  the  frying  pan  high  with 
a  forked  stick,  and  stood  up.  "  Say,  my  name's  Bud 
Moore,  and  I'm  not  headed  anywhere  in  particular. 
I'm  just  traveling  in  one  general  direction,  and  that's 
with  the  Coast  at  my  back.  Drifting,  that's  all.  I 
ain't  done  anything  I'm  ashamed  of  or  scared  of,  but 
I  am  kinda  bashful  about  towns.  I  tangled  with  a 
couple  of  crooks,  and  they're  pulled  by  now,  I  ex 
pect.  I'm  dodging  newspaper  notoriety.  Don't 
want  to  be  named  with  'em  at  all."  He  spread  his 
hands  with  an  air  of  finality.  "  That's  my  tale  of 
woe,"  he  supplemented,  "  boiled  down  to  essentials. 
I  just  thought  I'd  tell  you." 

"  Yeah.  Well,  my  name's  Cash  Markham,  and  I 
despise  to  have  folks  get  funny  over  it.  I'm  a  miner 
and  prospector,  and  I'm  outfitting  for  a  trip  for  an 
other  party,  looking  up  an  old  location  that  showed 
good  prospects  ten  years  ago.  Man  died,  and  his 

82 


BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS 

wife's  trying  to  get  the  claim  relocated.  Get  you  a 
plate  outa  that  furtherest  kyack,  and  a  cup.  Ban 
nock  look?  about  done,  so  we'll  eat." 

That  night  Bud  shared  Cash  Markham' s  blankets, 
and  in  the  morning  he  cooked  the  breakfast  while 
Cash  Markham  rounded  up  the  burros  and  horses. 
In  that  freemasonry  of  the  wilderness  they  dispensed 
with  credentials,  save  those  each  man  carried  in  his 
face  and  in  his  manner.  And  if  you  stop  to  think 
of  it,  such  credentials  are  not  easily  forged,  for  na 
ture  writes  them  down,  and  nature  is  a  truth-loving 
old  dame  who  will  never  lead  you  far  astray  if  only 
she  is  left  alone  to  do  her  work  in  peace. 

It  transpired,  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon's  travel, 
that  Cash  Markham  would  like  to  have  a  partner, 
if  he  could  find  a  man  that  suited.  One  guessed 
that  he  was  fastidious  in  the  matter  of  choosing  his 
companions,  in  spite  of  the  easy  way  in  which  he 
had  accepted  Bud.  By  noon  they  had  agreed  that 
Bud  should  go  along  and  help  relocate  the  widow's 
claim.  Cash  Markham  hinted  that  they  might  do 
a  little  prospecting  on  their  own  account.  It  was 
a  country  he  had  long  wanted  to  get  into,  he  said, 

83 


CABIN  FEVER 

and  while  he  intended  to  do  what  Mrs.  Thompson 
had  hired  him  to  do,  still  there  was  no  law  against 
their  prospecting  on  their  own  account.  And  that, 
he  explained,  was  one  reason  why  he  wanted  a  good 
man  along.  If  the  Thompson  claim  was  there,  Bud 
could  do  the  work  under  the  supervision  of  Cash,  and 
Cash  could  prospect. 

"  And  anyway,  it's  bad  policy  for  a  man  to  go  off 
alone  in  this  part  of  the  country,"  he  added  with 
a  speculative  look  across  the  sandy  waste  they  were 
skirting  at  a  pace  to  suit  the  heavily  packed  burros. 
"  Case  of  sickness  or  accident  —  or  suppose  the  stock 
strays  off  —  it's  bad  to  be  alone." 

"  Suits  me  fine  to  go  with  you,"  Bud  declared. 
"  I'm  next  thing  to  broke,  but  I've  got  a  lot  of  muscle 
I  can  cash  in  on  the  deal.  And  I  know  the  open. 
And  I  can  rock  a  gold-pan  and  not  spill  out  all  the 
colors,  if  there  is  any  —  and  whatever  else  I  know 
is  liable  to  come  in  handy,  and  what  I  don't  know 
I  can  learn." 

"  That's  fair  enough.  Fair  enough,"  Markham 
agreed.  "  I'll  allow  you  wages  on  the  Thompson 
job,  till  you've  earned  enough  to  balance  up  half  the 

84 


BUD  TAKES  TO  THE  HILLS 

outfit.  After  that  it'll  be  fifty-fifty.  How'll  that 
be,  Bud?" 

"  Fair  enough  —  fair  enough,"  Bud  retorted  with 
faint  mimicry.  "  If  I  was  all  up  in  the  air  a  few 
days  ago,  I  seem  to  have  lit  on  my  feet,  and  that's 
good  enough  for  me  right  now.  We'll  let  'er  ride 
that  way." 

And  the  twinkle,  as  he  talked,  was  back  in  his 
eyes,  and  the  smiley  quirk  was  at  the  corner  of  his 
lips. 


85 


CHAPTEE  SEVEN 

INTO    THE    DESERT 

IF  you  want  to  know  what  mad  adventure  Bud 
found  himself  launched  upon,  just  read  a  few 
extracts  from  the  diary  which  Cash  Markham,  being 
a  methodical  sort  of  person,  kept  faithfully  from 
day  to  day,  until  he  cut  his  thumb  on  a  can  of  toma 
toes  which  he  had  been  cutting  open  with  his  knife. 
After  that  Bud  kept  the  diary  for  him,  jotting  down 
the  main  happenings  of  the  day.  When  Cash's 
thumb  healed  so  that  he  could  hold  a  pencil  with 
some  comfort,  Bud  thankfully  relinquished  the  task. 
He  hated  to  write,  anyway,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  Cash  ought  to  trust  his  memory  a  little  more  than 
he  did. 

I  shall  skip  a  good  many  days,  of  course  —  though 
the  diary  did  not,  I  assure  you. 

First,  there  was  the  outfit.  When  they  had  out 
fitted  at  Needles  for  the  real  trip,  Cash  set  down 
the  names  of  all  living  things  in  this  wise : 

86 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

Outfit,  Cassius  B.  Markham,  Bud  Moore,  Daddy  a 
bull  terrier,  bay  horse,  Mars,  Pete  a  sorrel,  Ed  a 
burro,  Swayback  a  jinny,  Maude  a  jack,  Cora  another 
jinny,  Billy  a  riding  burro  &  Sways  colt  &  Maude 
colt  a  white  mean  looking  little  devil. 

Sat.  Apr.  1. 

Up  at  7:30.  Snowing  and  blowing  3  ft.  of  snow 
on  ground.  Managed  to  get  breakfast  &  returned 
to  bed.  Fed  Monte  &  Peter  our  cornmeal,  poor 
things  half  frozen.  Made  a  fire  in  tent  at  1:30  & 
cooked  a  meal.  Much  smoke,  ripped  hole  in  back 
of  tent.  Three  burros  in  sight  weathering  fairly 
well.  No  sign  of  let  up  everything  under  snow  & 
wind  a  gale.  Making  out  fairly  well  under  ad 
verse  conditions.  Worst  weather  we  have  experi 
enced. 

Apr.  2. 

Up  7  A.  M.  Fine  &  sunny  snow  going  fast.  Fixed 
up  tent  &  cleaned  up  generally.  Alkali  flat  a  lake, 
can't  cross  till  it  dries.  Stock  some  scattered, 
brought  them  all  together. 

Apr.  3. 

Up  7  A.  M.  Clear  &  bright.  Snow  going  fast. 
All  creeks  flowing.  Fine  sunny  day. 

Apr.  4. 

Up  6  A.  M.  Clear  &  bright.  Went  up  on  divide, 
met  3  punchers  who  said  road  impassable.  Saw  2 
trains  stalled  away  across  alkali  flat.  Very  boggy 
and  moist. 

Apr.  5.  Up  5  A.  M.  Clear  &  bright.  Start  out, 
on  Monte  &  Pete  at  6.  Animals  traveled  well,  did 
not  appear  tired.  Feed  fine  all  over.  Plenty  water 
everywhere. 

87 


CABIN  FEVER 

"Not  much  like  Bud's  auto  stage,  was  it  ?  But  the 
very  novelty  of  it,  the  harking  back  to  old  plains  days, 
appealed  to  him  and  sent  him  forward  from  dull 
hardship  to  duller  discomfort,  and  kept  the  quirk  at 
the  corners  of  his  lips  and  the  twinkle  in  his  eyes. 
Bud  liked  to  travel  this  way,  though  it  took  them 
all  day  long  to  cover  as  much  distance  as  he  had 
been  wont  to  slide  behind  him  in  an  hour.  He  liked 
it  —  this  slow,  monotonous  journeying  across  the 
lean  land  which  Cash  had  traversed  years  ago,  when 
the  stark,  black  pinnacles  and  rough  knobs  of  rock 
might  be  hiding  Indians  with  good  eyesight  and  a 
vindictive  temperament.  Cash  told  him  many 
things  out  of  his  past,  while  they  poked  along,  driv 
ing  the  packed  burros  before  them.  Things  which 
he  never  had  set  down  in  his  diary  —  things  which 
he  did  not  tell  to  any  one  save  his  few  friends. 

But  it  was  not  always  mud  and  rain  and  snow,  as 
Cash's  meager  chronicle  betrays. 

May  6. 

Up  at  sunrise.  Monte  &  Pete  gone  leaving  no 
tracks.  Bud  found  them  3  miles  South  near  Indian 
village.  Bud  cut  his  hair,  did  a  good  job.  Pros 
pector  dropped  into  camp  with  fist  full  of  good  look- 

88 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

ing  quartz.  Stock  very  thirsty  all  day.  Very  hot. 
Tied  Monte  &  Pete  up  for  night. 

May  8. 

Up  5:30.  Fine,  but  hot.  Left  7:30.  Pete 
walked  over  a  sidewinder  &  Bud  shot  him  ten  ft.  in 
air.  Also  prior  killed  another  beside  road.  Feed  as 
usual,  desert  weeds.  Pulled  grain  growing  side  of 
track  and  fed  plugs.  Water  from  cistern  &  R.  R. 
ties  for  fuel.  Put  up  tent  for  shade.  Flies  hor 
rible. 

May  9. 

Up  4.  Left  6.  Feed  as  usual.  Killed  a  side 
winder  hi  a  bush  with  3  shots  of  Krag.  Made  21  m. 
today.  R.  R.  ties  for  fuel.  Cool  breeze  all  day. 

May  11. 

Up  at  sunrise.  Bud  washed  clothes.  Tested 
rock.  Fine  looking  mineral  country  here.  Dressed 
Monte's  withers  with  liniment  greatly  reducing  swell 
ing  from  saddle-gall.  He  likes  to  have  it  dressed  & 
came  of  his  own  accord.  Day  quite  comfortable. 

May  15. 

Up  4.  Left  6  :30  over  desert  plain  &  up  dry  wash. 
Daddy  suffered  from  heat  &  ran  into  cactus  while 
looking  for  shade.  Got  it  in  his  mouth,  tongue,  feet 
&  all  over  body.  Fixed  him  up  poor  creature 
groaned  all  evening  &  would  not  eat  his  supper. 
Poor  feed  &  wood  here.  Water  found  by  digging  2 
ft.  in  sand  in  sandstone  basins  in  bed  of  dry  wash. 
Monte  lay  down  en  route.  Very  hot  &  all  suffered 
from  heat. 

May  16. 

Bud  has  sick  headache.  Very  hot  so  laid  around 
camp  all  day.  Put  two  blankets  up  on  tent  pole  for 
sun  break.  Daddy  under  weather  from  cactus  expe- 

89 


CABIN  FEVER 

rience.  Papago  Indian  boy  about  18  on  fine  bay 
mare  driveing  4  ponies  watered  at  our  well.  Moon 
almost  full,  lots  of  mocking  birds.  Pretty  songs. 

May  17. 

Up  7 :30  Bud  some  better.  Day  promises  hot,  but 
slight  breeze.  White  gauzy  clouds  in  sky.  Daddy 
better.  Monte  &  Pete  gone  all  day.  Hunted  twice 
but  impossible  to  track  them  in  this  stony  soil.  Bud 
followed  trail,  found  them  2  mi.  east  of  here  in  flat 
sound  asleep  about  3  P.  M.  At  6  went  to  flat  %  mi. 
~N.  of  camp  to  tie  Pete,  leading  Monte  by  bell  strap 
almost  stepped  on  rattler  3  ft.  long.  10  rattles  &  a 
button.  Killed  him.  To  date,  1  Prairie  rattler,  3 
Diamond  back  &  8  sidewinders,  12  in  all.  Bud  feels 
better. 

May  18. 

At  4  A.  M.  Bud  woke  up  by  stock  passing  camp. 
Spoke  to  me  who  half  awake  hollered,  "  sic  ?m, 
Daddy !  "  Daddy  sicced  'em  &  they  went  up  bank 
of  wash  to  right.  Bud  swore  it  was  Monte  &  Pete. 
I  went  to  flat  &  found  M.  &  P.  safe.  Water  in  sink 
all  gone.  Bud  got  stomach  trouble.  I  threw  up  my 
breakfast.  Very  hot  weather.  Lanced  Monte's  back 
&  dressed  it  with  creoline.  Turned  them  loose  & 
away  they  put  again. 

Soon  after  this  they  arrived  at  the  place  where 
Thompson  had  located  his  claim.  It  was  desert,  of 
course,  sloping  away  on  one  side  to  a  dreary  waste 
of  sand  and  weeds  with  now  and  then  a  giant  cactus 
standing  gloomily  alone  with  malformed  fingers 

90 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

stretched  stiffly  to  the  staring  blue  sky.  Behind 
where  they  pitched  their  final  camp  —  Camp  48, 
Cash  Markham  recorded  it  in  his  diary  —  the  hills 
rose.  But  they  were  as  stark  and  barren  almost  as 
the  desert  below.  Black  rock  humps  here  and  there, 
with  ledges  of  mineral  bearing  rock.  Bushes  and 
weeds  and  dry  washes  for  the  rest,  with  enough  strug 
gling  grass  to  feed  the  horses  and  burros  if  they 
rustled  hard  enough  for  it. 

They  settled  down  quietly  to  a  life  of  grinding 
monotony  that  would  have  driven  some  men  crazy. 
But  Bud,  because  it  was  a  man's  kind  of  monotony, 
bore  it  cheerfully.  He  was  out  of  doors,  and  he  was 
hedged  about  by  no  rules  or  petty  restrictions.  He 
liked  Cash  Markham  and  he  liked  Pete,  his  saddle 
horse,  and  he  was  fond  of  Daddy  who  was  still  pay 
ing  the  penalty  of  seeking  too  carelessly  for  shade 
and,  according  to  Cash's  record,  "  getting  it  in  his 
mouth,  tongue,  feet  &  all  over  body."  Bud  liked 
it  —  all  except  the  blistering  heat  and  the  "  side 
winders"  and  other  rattlers.  He  did  not  bother 
with  trying  to  formulate  any  explanation  of  why  he 
liked  it.  It  may  have  been  picturesque,  thought 

91 


CABIN  FEVER 

picturesqueness  of  that  sort  is  better  appreciated 
when  it  is  seen  through  the  dim  radiance  of  mem 
ory  that  blurs  sordid  details.  Certainly  it  was  not 
adventurous,  as  men  have  come  to  judge  adventure. 
Life  droned  along  very  dully.  Day  after  day  was 
filled  with  petty  details.  A  hill  looks  like  a  moun 
tain  if  it  rises  abruptly  out  of  a  level  plain,  with  no 
real  mountains  in  sight  to  measure  it  by.  Here's 
the  diary  to  prove  how  little  things  came  to  look  im 
portant  because  the  days  held  no  contrasts.  If  it 
bores  you  to  read  it,  think  what  it  must  have  been 
to  live  it. 

June  10. 

Up  at  6 :30.  Baked  till  11.  Then  unrigged  well 
and  rigged  up  an  incline  for  the  stock  to  water.  Bud 
dressed  Daddy's  back.  Stock  did  not  come  in  all 
morning,  but  Monte  &  Pete  came  in  before  supper. 
Incline  water  shaft  does  not  work.  Prospected  & 
found  3  ledges.  Bud  found  none. 

June  11. 

After  breakfast  fixed  up  shack  —  shelves,  benches, 
tools,  etc.  Cleaned  guns.  Bud  dressed  Daddy's 
back  which  is  much  better.  Strong  gold  in  test  of 
ledge,  I  found  below  creek.  Took  more  specimens 
to  sample.  Cora  comes  in  with  a  little  black  colt 
newly  born.  Proud  as  a  bull  pup  with  two  tails. 
Monte  &  Pete  did  not  come  in  so  we  went  by  lantern 

92 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

light  a  mile  or  so  down  the  wash  &  found  them  headed 
this  way  &  snake  them  in  to  drink  about  30  gallons 
of  water  apiece.  Daddy  tied  up  and  howling  like  a 
demon  all  the  while.  Bud  took  a  bath. 

June  12. 

Bud  got  out  and  got  breakfast  again.  Then 
started  off  on  Pete  to  hunt  trail  that  makes  short  cut 
18  miles  to  Bend.  Roofed  the  kitchen.  Bud  got 
back  about  1.30,  being  gone  6  hours.  Found  trail  & 
two  good  ledges.  Cora  &  colt  came  for  water.  Other 
burros  did  not.  Brought  in  specimens  from  ledge  up 
creek  that  showed  very  rich  gold  in  tests.  Burros 
came  in  at  9.30.  Bud  got  up  and  tied  them  up. 

June  13. 

Bud  gets  breakfast.  I  took  Sway  &  brought  in 
load  of  wood.  Bud  went  out  and  found  a  wash  lined 
with  good  looking  ledges.  Hung  up  white  rags  on 
bushes  to  identify  same.  Found  large  ledge  of  good 
quartz  showing  fine  in  tests  about  one  mile  down 
wash.  Bud  dressed  Daddy's  back.  Located  a  claim 
west  of  Thompson's.  Burros  did  not  come  in  ex 
cept  Cora  &  colt.  Pete  &  Monte  came  separated. 

June  14. 

Bud  got  breakfast  &  dressed  Daddy's  back.  Very 
hot  day.  Stock  came  in  about  2.  Tied  up  Billy 
Maud  &  Cora.  Bud  has  had  headache.  Monte  & 
Pete  did  not  come  in.  Bud  went  after  them  &  found 
them  4  miles  away  where  we  killed  the  Gila  monster. 
Sent  2  samples  from  big  ledge  to  Tucson  for  assay. 
Daddy  better. 

June  15. 

Up  2.30.  Bud  left  for  Bend  at  4.  Walked  down 
to  flat  but  could  not  see  stock.  About  3  Cora  &  Colt 
came  in  for  water  &  Sway  &  Ed  from  the  south  about 

93 


CABIN  FEVER 

5.  No  Monte.  Monte  got  in  about  midnight  & 
went  past  kitchen  to  creek  on  run.  Got  up,  found 
him  very  nervous  &  frightened  &  tied  him  up. 

June  17. 

Bud  got  back  4  p.  M.  in  gale  of  wind  &  sand.  Bur 
ros  did  not  come  in  for  water.  Very  hot.  Bud 
brought  canned  stuff.  Rigged  gallows  for  No.  2 
shaft  also  block  &  tackle  &  pail  for  drinking  water, 
also  washed  clothes.  While  drying  went  around  in 
cap  undershirt  &  shoes. 

June  18. 

Burros  came  in  during  night  for  water.  Hot  as 
nether  depths  of  infernal  regions.  Went  up  on  hill 
a  mile  away.  Seamed  with  veins  similar  to  shaft 
~No.  2  ore.  Blew  in  two  faces  &  got  good  looking 
ore  seamed  with  a  black  incrustation,  oxide  of  some 
thing,  but  what  could  not  determine.  Could  find 
neither  silver  nor  copper  in  it.  Monte  &  Pete  came 
in  about  1  &  tied  them  up.  Very  hot.  Hottest 
day  yet,  even  the  breeze  scorching.  Test  of  ore 
showed  best  yet.  One  half  of  solution  in  tube  turn 
ing  to  chloride  of  gold,  3  tests  showing  same.  Bur 
ros  except  Ed  &  Cora  do  not  come  in  days  any  more. 
Bud  made  a  gate  for  kitchen  to  keep  burros  out. 

The  next  morning  it  was  that  Cash  cut  the  ball 
of  his  right  thumb  open  on  the  sharp  edge  of  a  to 
mato  can.  He  wanted  the  diary  to  go  on  as  usual. 
He  had  promised,  he  said,  to  keep  one  for  the  widow 
who  wanted  a  record  of  the  way  the  work  was  car 
ried  on,  and  the  progress  made.  Bud  could  not  see 

94 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

that  there  had  been  much  progress,  except  as  a  mat 
ter  of  miles.  Put  a  speedometer  on  one  of  his  legs, 
he  told  Cash,  and  he'd  het  it  would  register  more 
mileage  chasing  after  them  fool  burros  than  his  auto 
stage  could  show  after  a  full  season.  As  for  work 
ing  the  widow's  claim,  it  was  not  worth  working, 
from  all  he  could  judge  of  it.  And  if  it  were  full 
of  gold  as  the  United  States  treasury,  the  burros 
took  up  all  their  time  so  they  couldn't  do  much.  Be 
tween  doggone  stock  drinking  or  not  drinking  and 
the  darn  fool  diary  that  had  to  be  kept,  Bud  opined 
that  they  needed  an  extra  hand  or  two.  Bud  was 
peevish,  these  days.  Gila  Bend  had  exasperated  him 
because  it  was  not  the  town  it  called  itself,  but  a 
huddle  of  adobe  huts.  He  had  come  away  in  the 
sour  mood  of  a  thirsty  man  who  finds  an  alkali  spring 
sparkling  deceptively  under  a  rock.  Furthermore, 
the  nights  had  been  hot  and  the  mosquitoes  a  hum 
ming  torment.  And  as  a  last  affliction  he  was  called 
upon  to  keep  the  diary  going.  He  did  it,  faithfully 
enough  but  in  a  fashion  of  his  own. 

First  he  read  back  a  few  pages  to  get  the  hang  of 
the  thing.     Then  he   shook   down   Cash's  fountain 

95 


CABIN  FEVER 

pen,  that  dried  quickly  in  that  heat.     Then  he  read 
another  page  as  a  model,  and  wrote: 

June  19. 

Mosquitoes  last  night  was  worse  than  the  heat  and 
that  was  worse  than  Gila  Bend's  great  white  way. 
Hunted  up  the  burros.  Pete  and  Monte  came  in  and 
drank.  Monte  had  colic.  We  fed  them  and  turned 
them  loose  but  the  blamed  fools  hung  around  all  day 
and  eat  up  some  sour  beans  I  throwed  out.  Cash 
was  peeved  and  swore  they  couldn't  have  another 
grain  of  feed.  But  Monte  come  to  the  shack  and 
watched  Cash  through  a  knothole  the  size  of  one  eye 
till  Cash  opened  up  his  heart  and  the  bag.  Cash 
cut  his  thumb  opening  tomatoes.  The  tomatoes 
wasn't  hurt  any. 

June  20. 

Got  breakfast.  Bill  and  harem  did  not  come  to 
water.  Cash  done  the  regular  hike  after  them.  His 
thumb  don't  hurt  him  for  hazing  donkeys.  Bill  and 
harem  come  in  after  Cash  left.  They  must  of  saw 
him  go.  Cash  was  out  four  hours  and  come  in  mad. 
Shot  a  hidrophobia  skunk  out  by  the  creek.  Nothing 
doing.  Too  hot. 

June  21. 

The  sun  would  blister  a  mud  turtle  so  he'd  holler. 
Cash  put  in  most  of  day  holding  a  parasol  over  his 
garden  patch.  Burros  did  not  miss  their  daily  drink. 
Night  brings  mosquitoes  with  their  wings  singed  but 
their  stingers  O.  K.  They  must  hole  up  daytimes  or 
they  would  fry. 

June  22. 

Thought  I  knew  what  heat  was.  I  never  did  be- 
96 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

fore.  Cash  took  a  bath.  It  was  his  first.  Burros 
did  not  come  to  water.  Cash  and  I  tried  to  sleep  on 
kitchen  roof  hut  the  darned  mosquitoes  fed  up  on  us 
and  then  played  heavenly  choir  all  night. 

June  25. 

Cash  got  back  from  Bend.  Thumb  is  better  and 
he  can  have  this  job  any  time  now.  He  hustled  up  a 
widow  that  made  a  couple  of  mosquito  bags  to  go 
over  our  heads.  No  shape  (bags,  not  widow)  but 
help  keep  flies  and  mosquitoes  from  chewing  on  us 
all  day  and  all  night.  Training  for  hades.  I  can 
stand  the  heat  as  well  as  the  old  boy  with  the  pitch 
fork.  Ain't  got  used  to  brimstone  yet,  but  I'd  trade 
mosquitoes  for  sulphur  smoke  and  give  some  boot. 
Worried  about  Cash.  He  took  a  bath  today  again, 
using  water  I  had  packed  for  mine.  Heat  must  be 
getting  him. 

June  26. 

Cash  opened  up  thumb  again,  trying  to  brain  Pete 
with  rock.  Pete  got  halfway  into  kitchen  and  eat 
biggest  part  of  a  pie  I  made.  Cash  threw  jagged 
rock,  hit  Pete  in  side  of  jaw.  Cut  big  gash.  Swelled 
now  like  a  punkin.  Cash  and  I  tangled  over  same. 
I'm  going  to  quit.  I  have  had  enough  of  this  darn 
country.  Creek's  drying  up,  and  mosquitoes  have 
found  way  to  crawl  under  bags.  Cash  wants  me  to 
stay  till  we  find  good  claim,  but  Cash  can  go  to 
thunder. 

Then  Cash's  record  goes  on: 

June  27. 

Bud  very  sick  &  out  of  head.  Think  it  is  heat, 
which  is  terrible.  Talked  all  night  about  burros, 
gasoline,  &  camphor  balls  which  he  seemed  wanting  to 

97 


CABIN  FEVER 

buy  in  gunny  sack.  JSTo  sleep  for  either.  Burros 
came  in  for  water  about  daylight.  Picketed  Monte 
&  Pete  as  may  need  doctor  if  Bud  grows  worse. 
Thumb  nearly  well. 

June  27. 

Bud  same,  slept  most  of  day.  Gave  liver  pills  & 
made  gruel  of  cornmeal,  best  could  do  with  present 
stores.  Burros  came  at  about  3  but  could  not  drink 
owing  to  bees  around  water  hold.  Monte  got  stung 
and  kicked  over  water  cans  &  buckets  I  had  saved  for 
burros.  Burros  put  for  hills  again.  No  way  of 
driving  off  bees. 

June  28. 

Burros  came  &  drank  in  night.  Cooler  breeze, 
Bud  some  better  &  slept.  Sway  has  badly  swollen 
neck.  May  be  rattler  bite  or  perhaps  bee.  Bud 
wanted  cigarettes  but  smoked  last  the  day  before  he 
took  sick.  Gave  him  more  liver  pills  &  sponge  off 
with  water  every  hour.  Best  can  do  under  circum 
stances.  Have  not  prospected  account  Bud's  sick 
ness. 

June  29. 

Very  hot  all  day,  breeze  like  blast  from  furnace. 
Burros  refuse  to  leave  flat.  Bees  better,  as  can't  fly 
well  in  this  wind.  Bud  worse.  High  fever  &  very 
restless  &  flighty.  Imagines  much  trouble  with  au 
tomobile,  talk  very  technical  &  can't  make  head  or  tail 
of  it.  Monte  &  Pete  did  not  come  in,  left  soon  as 
turned  loose.  No  feed  for  them  here  &  figured  Bud 
too  sick  to  travel  or  stay  alone  so  horses  useless  at 
present.  Sponged  frequently  with  coolest  water  can 
get,  seems  to  give  some  relief  as  he  is  quieter  after 
wards. 


98 


INTO  THE  DESERT 

July  4th. 

Monte  &  Pete  came  in  the  night  &  hung  around  all 
day.  Drove  them  away  from  vicinity  of  shack  sev 
eral  times  but  they  returned  &  moped  in  shade  of 
house.  Terrible  hot,  strong  gusty  wind.  Bud  sat  up 
part  of  day,  slept  rest  of  time.  Looks  very  thin  and 
great  hollows  under  eyes,  but  chief  trouble  seems  to 
be,  no  cigarettes.  Shade  over  radishes  &  lettice  works 
all  right.  Watered  copiously  at  daylight  &  again 
at  dusk.  Doing  fine.  Fixed  fence  which  M  &  P. 
broke  down  while  tramping  around.  Prospected 
west  of  ranche.  Found  enormous  ledge  of  black 
quartz,  looks  like  sulphur  stem  during  volcanic  era 
but  may  be  iron.  Strong  gold  &  heavy  precipitate 
in  test,  silver  test  poor  but  on  filtering  showed  like 
white  of  egg  in  tube  (unusual).  Clearing  iron  out 
showed  for  gold  the  highest  yet  made,  being  more 
pronounced  with  Feno-sulphate  than  $1500  rock  have 
seen.  Immense  ledge  of  it  &  slightest  estimate  from 
test  at  least  $10.  Did  not  tell  Bud  as  keeping  for 
surprize  when  he  is  able  to  visit  ledge.  Very  mo 
notonous  since  Bud  has  been  sick.  Bud  woke  up  & 
said  Hell  of  a  Fourth  &  turned  over  &  went  to  sleep 
again  with  mosquito  net  over  head  to  keep  off  flies. 
Burros  came  in  after  dark,  all  but  Cora  &  Colt,  which 
arrived  about  midnight.  Daddy  gone  since  yester 
day  morning  leaving  no  trace. 

July  5. 

Miserable  hot  night.  Burros  trickled  in  sometime 
during  night.  Bud  better,  managed  to  walk  to  big 
ledge  after  sundown.  Suggests  we  call  it  the  Burro 
Lode.  His  idea  of  wit,  claims  we  have  occupied 
camp  all  summer  for  sake  of  timing  burros  when  they 
come  to  waterhole.  Wish  to  call  it  Columbia  mine 

99 


CABIN  FEVER 

for  patriotic  reasons  having  found  it  on  Fourth. 
Will  settle  it  soon  so  as  to  put  up  location.  Put  in  2 
shots  &  pulpel  samples  for  assay.  Rigged  windows 
on  shack  to  keep  out  bees,  nats  &  flies  &  mosquitoes. 
Bud  objects  because  it  keeps  out  air  as  well.  Took 
them  on0.  Sick  folks  must  be  humored.  Hot,  mis 
erable  and  sleepless.  Bud  very  restless. 

July  6. 

Cool  wind  makes  weather  endurable,  but  bees  ter 
rible  in  kitchen  &  around  water-hole.  Flipped  a  dol 
lar  to  settle  name  of  big  ledge.  Bud  won  tails, 
Burro  lode.  Must  cultivate  my  sense  of  humor  so 
as  to  see  the  joke.  Bud  agrees  to  stay  &  help  de 
velop  claim.  Still  very  weak,  puttered  around  house 
all  day  cleaning  &  baking  bread  &  stewing  fruit  which 
brought  bees  by  millions  so  we  could  not  eat  same  till 
after  dark  when  they  subsided.  Bud  got  stung  twice 
in  kitchen.  Very  peevish  &  full  of  cuss.  Says  pos 
itively  must  make  trip  to  Bend  &  get  cigarettes  to 
morrow  or  will  blow  up  whole  outfit.  Has  already 
blowed  up  same  several  times  today  with  no  dam 
age.  Burros  came  in  about  5.  Monte  &  Pete  later, 
tied  them  up  with  grain.  Pete  has  very  bad  eye. 
Bud  will  ride  Monte  if  not  too  hot  for  trip.  Still 
no  sign  of  daddy,  think  must  be  dead  or  stolen  though 
nobody  to  steal  same  in  country. 

July  7. 

Put  in  2  shots  on  Burro  Lode  &  got  her  down  to 
required  depth.  Hot.  Bud  finds  old  location  on 
widow's  claim,  upturns  all  previous  calculation  &  in 
formation  given  me  by  her.  Wrote  letter  explaining 
same,  which  Bud  will  mail.  Bud  left  4  p.  M.  should 
make  Bend  by  midnight.  Much  better  but  still 
weak. 

100 


INTO  THE  DESE3T 

Burros  came  in  late  &  hung  aroand  -wztev  hole. 
up  monument  at  Burro  Lode.  Sent  off  samples  to 
assay  at  Tucson.  Killed  rattler  near  shack,  making 
16  so  far  killed. 


101 


CHAPTEE  EIGHT 

MANY    BARKEN    MONTHS    AND    MILES 

'  <T  If  TELL,  here  come  them  darn  burros,  Cash. 

V  V     Cora's  colt  ain't  with  'em  though.     Poor 

little  devils  —  say,  Cash,  they  look  like  hard  sleddin', 

and  that's  a  fact.     I'll  tell  the  world  they've  got 

about  as  much  pep  as  a  flat  tire." 

"  Maybe  we  better  grain  'em  again."  Cash  looked 
up  from  studying  the  last  assay  report  of  the  Burro 
Lode,  and  his  look  was  not  pleasant.  u  But  it'll  cost 
a  good  deal,  in  both  time  and  money.  The  feed 
around  here  is  played  out." 

"  Well,  when  it  comes  to  that  — "  Bud  cast  a 
glum  glance  at  the  paper  Cash  was  holding. 

"  Yeah.  Looks  like  everything's  about  played 
out.  Promising  ledge,  too.  Like  some  people, 
though.  Most  all  its  good  points  is  right  on  the 
surface.  Nothing  to  back  it  up." 

"  She's  sure  running  light,  all  right.  Now/'  Bud 
added  sardonically,  but  with  the  whimsical  quirk 

102 


MANY  BARREN  MONTHS 

withal,  "  if  it  was  like  a  carburetor,  and  you  could 
give  it  a  richer  mixture  — " 

"  Yeah.     What  do  you  make  of  it,  Bud  ?  " 

"  Well  —  aw,  there  comes  that  durn  colt,  bringing 
up  the  drag.  Say  Cash,  that  colt's  just  about  all  in. 
Cora's  nothing  but  a  bag  of  bones,  too.  They'll  never 
winter  —  not  on  this  range,  they  won't." 

Cash  got  up  and  went  to  the  doorway,  looking  out 
over  Bud's  shoulder  at  the  spiritless  donkeys  trailing 
in  to  water.  Beyond  them  the  desert  baked  in  its 
rim  of  hot,  treeless  hills.  Above  them  the  sky  glared 
a  brassy  blue  with  never  a  cloud.  Over  a  low  ridge 
came  Monte  and  Pete,  walking  with  heads  drooping. 
Their  hip  bones  lifted  above  their  ridged  paunches, 
their  backbones,  peaked  sharp  above,  their  withers 
were  lean  and  pinched  looking.  In  August  the 
desert  herbage  has  lost  what  little  succulence  it  ever 
possessed,  and  the  gleanings  are  scarce  worth  the 
walking  after. 

"  They're  pretty  thin,"  Cash  observed  specula- 
tively,  as  though  he  was  measuring  them  mentally  for 
some  particular  need. 

"  We'd  have  to  grain  'em  heavy  till  we  struck  bet- 
103 


CABIN  FEVER 

ter  feed.  And  pack  light."  Bud  answered  his 
thought. 

"  The  question  is,  where  shall  we  head  for,  Bud  ? 
Have  you  any  particular  idea  ? "  Cash  looked 
slightingly  down  at  the  assay  er's  report.  "  Such  as 
she  is,  we've  done  all  we  can  do  to  the  Burro  Lode, 
for  a  year  at  least,"  he  said.  "  The  assessment  work 
is  all  done  —  or  will  be  when  we  muck  out  after 
that  last  shot.  The  claim  is  filed  —  I  don't  know 
what  more  we  can  do  right  away.  Do  you  ?  " 

"  Sure  thing,"  grinned  Bud.  "  We  can  get  outa 
here  and  go  some  place  where  it's  green." 

"  Yeah."  Cash  meditated,  absently  eyeing  the 
burros.  "  Where  it's  green."  He  looked  at  the  near 
hills,  and  at  the  desert,  and  at  the  dreary  march  of 
the  starved  animals.  "  It's  a  long  way  to  green 
country,"  he  said. 

They  looked  at  the  burros. 

"  They're  tough  little  devils,"  Bud  observed  hope 
fully.  "  We  could  take  it  easy,  traveling  when  it's 
coolest.  And  by  packing  light,  and  graining  the 
whole  bunch  — " 

"  Yeah.  We  can  ease  'em  through,  I  guess.  It 
104 


MANY  BARREN  MONTHS 

does  seem  as  though  it  would  be  foolish  to  hang  on 
here  any  longer."  Carefully  as  he  made  his  tests, 
Cash  weighed  the  question  of  their  going.  "  This 
last  report  kills  any  chance  of  interesting  capital  to 
the  extent  of  developing  the  claim  on  a  large  enough 
scale  to  make  it  profitable.  It's  too  long  a  haul  to 
take  the  ore  out,  and  it's  too  spotted  to  justify  any 
great  investment  in  machinery  to  handle  it  on  the 
ground.  And/'  he  added  with  an  undernote  of 
fierceness,  "  it's  a  terrible  place  for  man  or  beast  to 
stay  in,  unless  the  object  to  be  attained  is  great 
enough  to  justify  enduring  the  hardships." 

"  You  said  a  mouthful,  Cash.  Well,  can  you  leave 
your  seven  radishes  and  three  bunches  of  lettuce  and 
pull  out  —  say  at  daybreak  ?  "  Bud  turned  to  him 
with  some  eagerness. 

Cash  grinned  sourly.  "  When  it's  time  to  go, 
seven  radishes  can't  stop  me.  No,  nor  a  whole  row 
of  'em  —  if  there  was  a  whole  row." 

"And  you  watered  'em  copiously  too,"  Bud  mur 
mured,  with  the  corners  of  his  mouth  twitching. 
"  Well,  I  guess  we  might  as  well  tie  up  the  live 
stock.  I'm  going  to  give  'em  all  a  feed  of  rolled 

105 


CABIN  FEVER 

oats,  Cash.  We  can  get  along  without,  and  they've 
got  to  have  something  to  put  a  little  heart  in  'em. 
There's  a  moon  to-night  —  how  about  starting  along 
about  midnight?  That  would  put  us  in  the  Bend 
early  in  the  forenoon  to-morrow." 

"  Suits  me,"  said  Cash.  "  Now  I've  made  up 
my  mind  about  going,  I  can't  go  too  soon." 

"  You're  on.  Midnight  sees  us  started."  Bud 
went  out  with  ropes  to  catch  and  tie  up  the  burros 
and  their  two  saddle  horses.  And  as  he  went,  for 
the  first  time  in  two  months  he  whistled;  a  detail 
which  Cash  noted  with  a  queer  kind  of  smile. 

Midnight  and  the  moon  riding  high  in  the  purple 
bowl  of  sky  sprinkled  thick  with  stars ;  with  a  little, 
warm  wind  stirring  the  parched  weeds  as  they  passed ; 
with  the  burros  shuffling  single  file  along  the  dim 
trail  which  was  the  short  cut  through  the  hills  to  the 
Bend,  Ed  taking  the  lead,  with  the  camp  kitchen 
wabbling  lumpily  on  his  back,  Cora  bringing  up 
the  rear  with  her  skinny  colt  trying  its  best  to  keep 
up,  and  with  no  pack  at  all;  so  they  started  on  the 
long,  long  journey  to  the  green  country. 

A  silent  journey  it  was  for  the  most  part.     The 
106 


MANY  BARREN  MONTHS 

moon  and  the  starry  bowl  of  sky  had  laid  their  spell 
upon  the  desert,  and  the  two  men  rode  wordlessly, 
filled  with  vague,  unreasoning  regret  that  they  must 
go.  Months  they  had  spent  with  the  desert,  learn 
ing  well  every  little  varying  mood ;  cursing  it  for  its 
blistering  heat  and  its  sand  storms  and  its  parched 
thirst  and  its  utter,  blank  loneliness.  Loving  it  too, 
without  ever  dreaming  that  they  loved.  To-morrow 
they  would  face  the  future  with  the  past  dropping 
farther  and  farther  behind.  To-night  it  rode  with 
them. 

Three  months  in  that  little,  rough-walled  hut  had 
lent  it  an  atmosphere  of  home,  which  a  man  in 
stinctively  responds  to  with  a  certain  clinging  affec 
tion,  however  crude  may  be  the  shelter  he  calls  his 
own.  Cash  secretly  regretted  the  thirsty  death  of 
his  radishes  and  lettuce  which  he  had  planted  and 
tended  with  such  optimistic  care.  Bud  wondered  if 
Daddy  might  not  stray  half-starved  into  the  shack, 
and  find  them  gone.  While  they  were  there,  he  had 
agreed  with  Cash  that  the  dog  must  be  dead.  But 
now  he  felt  uneasily  doubtful.  It  would  be  fierce 
if  Daddy  did  come  back  now.  He  would  starve. 

107 


CABIN  FEVER 

He  never  could  make  the  trip  to  the  Bend  alone, 
even  if  he  could  track  them. 

There  was,  also,  the  disappointment  in  the  Burro 
Lode  claim.  As  Bud  planned  it,  the  Burro  was 
packing  a  very  light  load  —  far  lighter  than  had 
seemed  possible  with  that  strong  indication  on  the 
surface.  Cash's  "  enormous  black  ledge  "  had  shown 
less  and  less  gold  as  they  went  into  it,  though  it  still 
seemed  worth  while,  if  they  had  the  capital  to  de 
velop  it  further.  Wherefore  they  had  done  generous 
assessment  work  and  had  recorded  their  claim  and 
built  their  monuments  to  mark  its  boundaries.  It 
would  be  safe  for  a  year,  and  by  that  time  —  Quien 
sale? 

The  Thompson  claim,  too,  had  not  justified  any 
enthusiasm  whatever.  They  had  found  it,  had  re 
located  it,  and  worked  out  the  assessment  for  the 
widow.  Cash  had  her  check  for  all  they  had  earned, 
and  he  had  declared  profanely  that  he  would  not 
give  his  share  of  the  check  for  the  whole  claim. 

They  would  go  on  prospecting,  using  the  check 
for  .a  grubstake.  That  much  they  had  decided  with 
out  argument.  The  gambling  instinct  was  wide 

108 


MANY  BARREN  MONTHS 

awake  in  Bud's  nature  —  and  as  for  Cash,  he  would 
hunt  gold  as  long  as  he  could  carry  pick  and  pan. 
They  would  prospect  as  long  as  their  money  held 
out.  When  that  was  gone,  they  would  get  more  and 
go  on  prospecting.  But  they  would  prospect  in  a 
green  country  where  wood  and  water  were  not  so 
precious  as  in  the  desert  and  where,  Cash  averred, 
the  chance  of  striking  it  rich  was  just  as  good;  bet 
ter,  because  they  could  kill  game  and  make  their 
grubstake  last  longer. 

Wherefore-  they  waited  in  Gila  Bend  for  three 
days,  to  strengthen  the  weakened  animals  with  rest 
and  good  hay  and  grain.  Then  they  took  again 
to  the  trail,  traveling  as  lightly  as  they  could,  with 
food  for  themselves  and  grain  for  the  stock  to  last 
them  until  they  reached  Needles.  From  there  with 
fresh  supplies  they  pushed  on  up  to  Goldfield,  found 
that  camp  in  the  throes  of  labor  disputes,  and  went 
on  to  Tonopah. 

There  they  found  work  for  themselves  and  the 
burros,  packing  winter  supplies  to  a  mine  lying  back 
in  the  hills.  They  made  money  at  it,  and  during 
the  winter  they  made  more.  With  the  opening  of 

109 


CABIN  FEVER 

spring  they  outfitted  again  and  took  the  trail,  their 
goal  the  high  mountains  south  of  Honey  Lake.  They 
did  not  hurry.  Wherever  the  land  they  traveled 
through  seemed  to  promise  gold,  they  would  stop 
and  prospect.  Many  a  pan  of  likely  looking  dirt 
they  washed  beside  some  stream  where  the  burros 
stopped  to  drink  and  feed  a  little  on  the  grassy  banks. 
So,  late  in  June,  they  reached  Reno ;  outfitted  and 
went  on  again,  traveling  to  the  north,  to  the  green 
country  for  which  they  yearned,  though  now  they 
were  fairly  in  it  and  would  have  stopped  if  any 
tempting  ledge  or  bar  had  come  in  their  way.  They 
prospected  every  gulch  that  showed  any  mineral  signs 
at  all.  It  was  a  carefree  kind  of  life,  with  just 
enough  of  variety  to  hold  Bud's  interest  to  the  ad 
venturing.  The  nomad  in  him  responded  easily  to 
this  leisurely  pilgrimage.  There  was  no  stampede 
anywhere  to  stir  their  blood  with  the  thought  of 
quick  wealth.  There  was  hope  enough,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  keep  them  going.  Cash  had  prospected  and 
trapped  for  more  than  fifteen  years  now,  and  he 
preached  the  doctrine  of  freedom  and  the  great  out 
doors. 

110 


MANY  BARREN  MONTHS 

Of  what  use  was  a  house  and  lot  —  and  taxes  and 
trouble  with  the  plumbing?  he  would  chuckle.  A 
tent  and  blankets  and  a  frying  pan  and  grub;  two 
good  legs  and  wild  country  to  travel ;  a  gold  pan  and 
a  pick  —  these  things,  to  Cash,  spelled  independence 
and  the  joy  of  living.  The  burros  and  the  two  horses 
were  luxuries,  he  declared.  When  they  once  got 
located  on  a  good  claim  they  would  sell  off  everything 
but  a  couple  of  burros  —  Sway  and  Ed,  most  likely. 
The  others  would  bring  enough  for  a  winter  grub 
stake,  and  would  prolong  their  freedom  and  their 
independence  just  that  much.  That  is,  supposing 
they  did  not  strike  a  good  claim  before  then.  Cash 
had  learned,  he  said,  to  hope  high  but  keep  an  eye 
on  the  grubstake. 

Late  in  August  they  came  upon  a  mountain  vil 
lage  perched  beside  a  swift  stream  and  walled  in 
on  three  sides  by  pine-covered  mountains.  A  branch 
railroad  linked  the  place  more  or  less  precariously 
with  civilization,  and  every  day  —  unless  there  was 
a  washout  somewhere,  or  a  snowslide,  or  drifts  too 
deep  —  a  train  passed  over  the  road.  One  day  it 
would  go  up-stream,  and  the  next  day  it  would  come 

111 


CABIN  FEVER 

back.  And  the  houses  stood  drawn  up  in  a  row 
alongside  the  track  to  watch  for  these  passings. 

Miners  came  in  with  burros  or  with  horses,  packed 
flour  and  bacon  and  tea  and  coffee  across  their  mid 
dles,  got  drunk,  perhaps  as  a  parting  ceremony,  and 
went  away  into  the  hills.  Cash  watched  them  for 
a  day  or  so;  saw  the  size  of  their  grubstakes,  asked 
few  questions  and  listened  to  a  good  deal  of  small 
town  gossip,  and  nodded  his  head  contentedly. 
There  was  gold  in  these  hills.  Not  enough,  per 
haps,  to  start  a  stampede  with  —  but  enough  to  keep 
wise  old  hermits  burrowing  after  it. 

So  one  day  Bud  sold  the  two  horses  and  one  of 
the  saddles,  and  Cash  bought  flour  and  bacon  and 
beans  and  coffee,  and  added  other  things  quite  as 
desirable  but  not  so  necessary.  Then  they  too  went 
away  into  the  hills. 

Fifteen  miles  from  Alpine,  as  a  cannon  would 
shoot ;  high  up  in  the  hills,  where  a  creek  flowed  down 
through  a  saucerlike  basin  under  beetling  ledges 
fringed  all  around  with  forest,  they  came,  after 
much  wandering,  upon  an  old  log  cabin  whose  dirt 
roof  still  held  in  spite  of  the  snows  that  heaped  upon 

112 


MANY  BARREN  MONTHS 

it  through  many  a  winter.  The  ledge  showed  the 
scars  of  old  prospect  holes,  and  in  the  sand  of  the 
creek  they  found  "  colors  "  strong  enough  to  make 
it  seem  worth  while  to  stop  here  —  for  awhile,  at 
least. 

They  cleaned  out  the  cabin  and  took  possession 
of  it,  and  the  next  time  they  went  to  town  Cash 
made  cautious  inquiries  ahout  the  place.  It  was,  he 
learned,  an  old  abandoned  claim.  Abandoned 
chiefly  because  the  old  miner  who  had  lived  there 
died  one  day,  and  left  behind  him  all  the  marks  of 
having  died  from  starvation,  mostly.  A  cursory  ex 
amination  of  his  few  belongings  had  revealed  much 
want,  but  no  gold  save  a  little  coarse  dust  in  a 
small  bottle. 

"About  enough  to  fill  a  rifle  cartridge,"  detailed 
the  teller  of  the  tale.  "  He'd  pecked  around  that 
draw  for  two,  three  year  mebby.  Never  showed  no 
gold  much,  for  all  the  time  he  spent  there.  Trapped 
some  in  winter  —  coyotes  and  bobcats  and  skunks, 
mostly.  Kinda  off  in  the  upper  story,  old  Nelson 
was.  I  guess  he  just  stayed  there  because  he  hap 
pened  to  light  there  and  didn't  have  gumption  enough 

113 


CABIN  FEVER 

to  git  out.  Hills  is  full  of  old  fellers  like  him. 
They  live  off  to  the'rselves,  and  peck  around  and  git 
a  pocket  now  and  then  that  keeps  'm  in  grub  and 
tobacco.  If  you  want  to  use  the  cabin,  I  guess  no 
body's  goin'  to  care.  Nelson  never  had  any  folks, 
that  anybody  knows  of.  Nobody  ever  bothered 
about  takiii'  up  the  claim  after  he  cashed  in,  either. 
Didn't  seem  worth  nothin'  much.  Went  back  to 
the  gov'ment." 

"  Trapped,    you    say.     Any    game    around   there 

?}} 

"  Oh,  shore !  Game  everywhere  in  these  hills, 
from  weasels  up  to  bear  and  mountain  lion.  If  you 
want  to  trap,  that's  as  good  a  place  as  any,  I  guess." 

So  Cash  and  Bud  sold  the  burros  and  bought  traps 
and  more  supplies,  and  two  window  sashes  and  a 
crosscut  saw  and  some  wedges  and  a  double-bitted 
axe,  and  settled  down  in  Nelson  Flat  to  find  what 
old  Dame  Fortune  had  tucked  away  in  this  little 
side  pocket  and  forgotten. 


114 


CHAPTEE  NINE 

THE     BITE     OF     MEMORY 

THE  heavy  boom  of  a  dynamite  blast  rolled  across 
the  flat  to  the  hills  that  flung  it  back  in  a  tardy 
echo  like  a  spent  ball  of  sound.  A  blob  of  blue 
smoke  curled  out  of  a  hole  the  size  of  a  hogshead 
in  a  steep  bank  overhung  with  alders.  Outside,  the 
wind  caught  the  smoke  and  carried  streamers  of  it 
away  to  play  with.  A  startled  blue  jay,  on  a  limb 
high  up  on  the  bank,  lifted  his  slaty  crest  and 
teetered  forward,  clinging  with  his  toe  nails  to  the 
branch  while  he  scolded  down  at  the  men  who  had 
scared  him  so.  A  rattle  of  clods  and  small  rocks 
fell  from  their  high  flight  into  the  sweet  air  of  a 
mountain  sunset. 

"  Good  execution,  that  was,"  Cash  remarked, 
craning  his  neck  toward  the  hole.  "  If  you're  a  mind 
to  go  on  ahead  and  cook  supper,  I'll  stay  and  see 
if  we  opened  up  anything.  Or  you  can  stay,  just 
as  you  please." 

115 


CABIN  FEVER 

Dynamite  smoke  invariably  made  Bud's  head  ache 
splittingiy.  Cash  was  not  so  susceptible.  Bud 
chose  the  cooking,  and  went  away  down  the  flat,  the 
bluejay  screaming  insults  after  him.  He  was  fry 
ing  bacon  when  Cash  came  in,  a  hatful  of  broken 
rock  riding  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 

"  Got  something  pretty  good  here,  Bud  —  if  she 
don't  turn  out  like  that  dang  Burro  Lode  ledge. 
Look  here.  Best  looking  quartz  we've  struck  yet. 
What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

He  dumped  the  rock  out  on  the  oilcloth  behind 
the  sugar  can  and  directly  under  the  little  square 
window  through  which  the  sun  was  pouring  a  lavish 
yellow  flood  of  light  before  it  dropped  behind  the 
peak.  Bud  set  the  bacon  back  where  it  would  not 
burn,  and  bent  over  the  table  to  look. 

"  Gee,  but  it's  heavy !  "  he  cried,  picking  up  a 
fragment  the  size  of  an  egg,  and  balancing  it  in  his 
hands.  "  I  don't  know  a  lot  about  gold-bearing 
quartz,  but  she  looks  good  to  me,  all  right." 

"  Yeah.  It  is  good,  unless  I'm  badly  mistaken. 
I'll  test  some  after  supper.  Old  Nelson  couldn't 
have  used  powder  at  all,  or  he'd  have  uncovered 

116 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

enough  of  this,  I  should  think,  to  show  the  rest  what 
he  had.  Or  maybe  he  died  just  when  he  had  started 
that  hole.  Seems  queer  he  never  struck  pay  dirt  in 
this  flat.  Well,  let's  eat  if  it's  ready,  Bud.  Then 
we'll  see." 

"  Seems  kinda  queer,  don't  it,  Cash,  that  nobody 
stepped  in  and  filed  on  any  claims  here  ?  "  Bud 
dumped  half  a  kettle  of  boiled  beans  into  a  basin  and 
set  it  on  the  table.  "  Want  any  prunes  to-night, 
Cash?" 

Cash  did  not  want  prunes,  which  was  just  as  well, 
seeing  there  were  none  cooked.  He  sat  down  and 
ate,  with  his  mind  and  his  eyes  clinging  to  the  gray 
ish,  veined  fragments  of  rock  lying  on  the  table  be 
side  his  plate. 

"  We'll  send  some  of  that  down  to  Sacramento 
right  away,"  he  observed,  "  and  have  it  assayed. 
And  we  won't  let  out  anything  about  it,  Bud  —  good 
or  bad.  I  like  this  flat.  I  don't  want  it  mucked 
over  with  a  lot  of  gold-crazy  lunatics." 

Bud  laughed  and  reached  for  the  bacon.  "  We 
ain't  been  followed  up  with  stampedes  so  far,"  he 
pointed  out.  "  Burro  Lode  never  caused  a  ripple  in 

117 


CABIN  FEVER 

the  Bend,  you  recollect.     And  I'll  tell  a  sinful  world 
it  looked  awful  good,  too." 

"  Yeah.  Well,  Arizona's  hard  to  excite.  They've 
had  so  dang  much  strenuosity  all  their  lives,  and 
then  the  climate's  against  violent  effort,  either  men 
tal  or  physical.  I  was  calm,  perfectly  calm  when 
I  discovered  that  big  ledge.  It  is  just  as  well  —  see 
ing  how  it  petered  out." 

"  What'll  you  bet  this  pans  out  the  same  ? " 

"  I  never  bet.  No  one  but  a  fool  will  gamble." 
Cash  pressed  his  lips  together  in  a  way  that  drove 
the  color  from  them. 

"  Oh,  yuh  don't !  Say,  you're  the  king  bee  of  all 
gamblers.  Been  prospecting  for  fifteen  years,  ac 
cording  to  you  —  and  then  you've  got  the  nerve  to 
say  you  don't  gamble !  " 

Cash  ignored  the  charge.  He  picked  up  a  piece 
of  rock  and  held  it  to  the  fading  light.  "  It  looks 
good,"  he  said  again.  "  Better  than  that  placer 
ground  down  by  the  creek.  That's  all  right,  too. 
We  can  wash  enough  gold  there  to  keep  us  going 
while  we  develop  this.  That  is,  if  this  proves  as 
good  as  it  looks." 

118 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

Bud  looked  across  at  him  enigmatically.  "  Well, 
here's  hoping  she's  worth  a  million.  You  go  ahead 
with  your  tests,  Cash.  I'll  wash  the  dishes." 

"  Of  course,"  Cash  began  to  conserve  his  enthu 
siasm,  "  there's  nothing  so  sure  as  an  assay.  And  it 
was  too  dark  in  the  hole  to  see  how  much  was  un 
covered.  This  may  be  just  a  freak  deposit.  There 
may  not  be  any  real  vein  of  it.  You  can't  tell  until 
it's  developed  further.  But  it  looks  good.  Awful 
good." 

His  makeshift  tests  confirmed  his  opinion.  Bud 
started  out  next  day  with  three  different  samples 
for  the  assayer,  and  an  air  castle  or  two  to  keep  him 
company.  He  would  like  to  find  himself  half  owner 
of  a  mine  worth  about  a  million,  he  mused.  Maybe 
Marie  would  wish  then  that  she  had  thought  twice 
about  quitting  him  just  on  her  mother's  say-so.  He'd 
like  to  go  buzzing  into  San  Jose  behind  the  wheel  of 
a  car  like  the  one  Foster  had  fooled  him  into  steal 
ing.  And  meet  Marie,  and  her  mother  too,  and  let 
them  get  an  eyeful.  He  guessed  the  old  lady  would 
have  to  swallow  what  she  had  said  about  him  being 
lazy  —  just  because  he  couldn't  run  an  auto-stage  in 

119 


CABIN  FEVER 

the  winter  to  Big  Basin !  What  was  the  matter  with 
the  old  woman,  anyway?  Didn't  he  keep  Marie  in 
comfort.  Well,  he'd  like  to  see  her  face  when  he 
drove  along  the  street  in  a  big  new  Sussex.  She'd 
wish  she  had  let  him  and  Marie  alone.  They  would 
have  made  out  all  right  if  they  had  been  let  alone. 
He  ought  to  have  taken  Marie  to  some  other  town, 
where  her  mother  couldn't  nag  at  her  every  day 
about  him.  Marie  wasn't  such  a  bad  kid,  if  she  were 
left  alone.  They  might  have  been  happy  — 

He  tried  then  to  shake  himself  free  of  thoughts  of 
her.  That  was  the  trouble  with  him,  he  brooded 
morosely.  He  couldn't  let  his  thoughts  ride  free,  any 
more.  They  kept  heading  straight  for  Marie.  He 
could  not  see  why  she  should  cling  so  to  his  mem 
ory  ;  he  had  not  wronged  her  —  unless  it  was  by  let 
ting  her  go  without  making  a  bigger  fight  for  their 
home.  Still,  she  had  gone  of  her  own  free  will.  He 
was  the  one  that  had  been  wronged  —  why,  hadn't 
they  lied  about  him  in  court  and  to  the  gossipy  neigh 
bors  ?  Hadn't  they  broke  him  ?  ~No.  If  the  mine 
panned  out  big  as  Casl^seemed  to  think  was  likely, 
the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  steer  clear  of  San 

120 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

Jose.  And  whether  it  panned  out  or  not,  the  best 
thing  he  could  do  was  forget  that  such  a  girl  as 
Marie  had  ever  existed. 

Which  was  all  very  well,  as  far  as  it  went.  The 
trouble  was  that  resolving  not  to  think  of  Marie, 
calling  up  all  the  bitterness  he  could  muster  against 
her  memory,  did  no  more  toward  blotting  her  image 
from  his  mind  than  did  the  miles  and  the  months 
he  had  put  between  them. 

He  reached  the  town  in  a  dour  mood  of  unrest, 
spite  of  the  promise  of  wealth  he  carried  in  his 
pocket.  He  mailed  the  package  and  the  letter,  and 
went  to  a  saloon  and  had  a  highball.  He  was  not  a 
drinking  man  —  at  least,  he  never  had  been  one, 
beyond  a  convivial  glass  or  two  with  his  fellows  — 
but  he  felt  that  day  the  need  of  a  little  push  toward 
optimism.  In  the  back  part  of  the  room  three  men 
were  playing  freeze-out.  Bud  went  over  and  stood 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  watched  them,  be 
cause  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  and  because  he 
was  still  having  some  trouble  with  his  thoughts.  He 
was  lonely,  without  quite  knowing  what  ailed  him. 
He  hungered  for-  friends  to  hail  him  with  that  cor- 

121 


CABIN  FEVER 

dial,   "  Hello,  Bud !  "  when  they  saw  him  coining. 

No  one  in  Alpine  had  said  hello,  Bud,  when  he 
came  walking  in  that  day.  The  postmaster  had  given 
him  one  measuring  glance  when  he  had  weighed  the 
package  of  ore,  but  he  had  not  spoken  except  to  name 
the  amount  of  postage  required.  The  bartender  had 
made  some  remark  about  the  weather,  and  had  smiled 
with  a  surface  friendliness  that  did  not  deceive  Bud 
for  a  moment.  He  knew  too  well  that  the  smile  was 
not  for  him,  but  for  his  patronage. 

He  watched  the  game.  And  when  the  man  oppo 
site  him  pushed  back  his  chair  and,  looking  up  at 
Bud,  asked  if  he  wanted  to  sit  in,  Bud  went  and  sat 
down,  buying  a  dollar's  worth  of  chips  as  an  evidence 
of  his  intention  to  play.  His  interest  in  the  game 
was  not  keen.  He  played  for  the  feeling  it  gave 
him  of  being  one  of  the  bunch,  a  man  among  his 
friends;  or  if  not  friends,  at  least  acquaintances. 
And,  such  was  his  varying  luck  with  the  cards,  he 
played  for  an  hour  or  so  without  having  won  enough 
to  irritate  his  companions.  Wherefore  he  rose 
from  the  table  at  supper  time  calling  one  young  fel 
low  Frank  quite  naturally.  They  went  to  the  Al- 

122 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

pine  House  and  had  supper  together,  and  after  that 
they  sat  in  the  office  and  talked  about  automobiles 
for  an  hour,  which  gave  Bud  a  comforting  sense  of 
having  fallen  among  friends. 

Later  they  strolled  over  to  a  picture  show  which 
ran  films  two  years  behind  their  first  release,  and 
charged  fifteen  cents  for  the  privilege  of  watching 
them.  It  was  the  first  theater  Bud  had  entered  since 
he  left  San  Jose,  and  at  the  last  minute  he  hesitated, 
tempted  to  turn  back.  He  hated  moving  pictures. 
They  always  had  love  scenes  somewhere  in  the  story, 
and  love  scenes  hurt.  But  Prank  had  already  bought 
two  tickets,  and  it  seemed  unfriendly  to  turn  back 
now.  He  went  inside  to  the  jangling  of  a  player- 
piano  in  dire  need  of  a  tuner's  service,  and  sat  down 
near  the  back  of  the  hall  with  his  hat  upon  his  lifted 
knees  which  could  have  used  more  space  between  the 
seats. 

While  they  waited  for  the  program  they  talked 
in  low  tones,  a  mumble  of  commonplaces.  Bud  for 
got  for  the  moment  his  distaste  for  such  places,  and 
let  himself  slip  easily  back  into  the  old  thought  chan 
nels,  the  old  habits  of  relaxation  after  a  day's  work 

123 


CABIN  FEVER 

was  done.  He  laughed  at  the  one-reel  comedy  that 
had  for  its  climax  a  chase  of  housemaids,  policemen, 
and  outraged  fruit  venders  after  a  well-meaning  but 
unfortunate  lover.  He  saw  the  lover  pulled  igno- 
miniously  out  of  a  duck  pond  and  soused  relentlessly 
into  a  watering  trough,  and  laughed  with  Frank  and 
called  it  some  picture. 

He  eyed  a  succession  of  "  current  events  "  long 
since  gone  stale  out  where  the  world  moved  swifter 
than  here  in  the  mountains,  and  he  felt  as  though 
he  had  come  once  more  into  close  touch  with  life. 
All  the  dull  months  he  had  spent  with  Cash  and  the 
burros  dwarfed  into  a  pointless,  irrelevant  incident 
of  his  life.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  be  out  in  the 
world,  doing  bigger  things  than  hunting  gold  that 
somehow  always  refused  at  the  last  minute  to  be 
found.  He  stirred  restlessly.  He  was  free  —  there 
was  nothing  to  hold  him  if  he  wanted  to  go.  The 
war  —  he  believed  he  would  go  over  and  take  a 
hand.  He  could  drive  an  ambulance  or  a  truck  — 

Current  Events,  however,  came  abruptly  to  an 
end ;  and  presently  Bud's  vagrant,  half-formed  desire 
for  achievement  merged  into  biting  recollections. 

124 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

Here  was  a  love  drama,  three  reels  of  it.  At  first 
Bud  watched  it  with  only  a  vague,  disquieting  sense 
of  familiarity.  Then  abruptly  he  recalled  too  viv 
idly  the  time  and  circumstance  of  his  first  sight  of 
the  picture.  It  was  in  San  Jose,  at  the  Liberty.  He 
and  Marie  had  been  married  two  days,  and  were  liv 
ing  in  that  glamorous  world  of  the  honeymoon,  so 
poignantly  sweet,  so  marvellous  —  and  so  fleeting. 
He  had  whispered  that  the  girl  looked  like  her,  and 
she  had  leaned  heavily  against  his  shoulder.  In  the 
dusk  of  lowered  lights  their  hands  had  groped  and 
found  each  other,  and  clung. 

The  girl  did  look  like  Marie.  When  she  turned 
her  head  with  that  little  tilt  of  the  chin,  when  she 
smiled,  she  was  like  Marie.  Bud  leaned  forward, 
staring,  his  brows  drawn  together,  breathing  the 
short,  quick  breaths  of  emotion  focussed  upon  one 
object,  excluding  all  else.  Once,  when  Frank 
moved  his  body  a  little  in  the  next  seat,  Bud's  hand 
went  out  that  way  involuntarily.  The  touch  of 
Frank's  rough  coat  sleeve  recalled  him  brutally,  so 
that  he  drew  away  with  a  wincing  movement  as 
though  he  had  been  hurt. 

125 


CABIN  FEVER 

All  those  months  in  the  desert ;  all  those  months  of 
the  slow  journeying  northward;  all  the  fought  bat 
tles  with  memory,  when  he  thought  that  he  had 
won  —  all  gone  for  nothing,  their  slow  anodyne  serv 
ing  but  to  sharpen  now  the  bite  of  merciless  remem 
bering.  His  hand  shook  upon  his  knee.  Small 
beads  of  moisture  oozed  out  upon  his  forehead.  He 
sat  stunned  before  the  amazing  revelation  of  how 
little  time  and  distance  had  done  to  heal  his  hurt. 

He  wanted  Marie.  He  wanted  her  more  than  he 
had  ever  wanted  her  in  the  old  days,  with  a  tender 
ness,  an  impulse  to  shield  her  from  her  own  weak 
nesses,  her  own  mistakes.  Then  —  in  those  old  days 
—  there  had  been  the  glamor  of  mystery  that  is 
called  romance.  That  was  gone,  worn  away  by  the 
close  intimacies  of  matrimony.  He  knew  her  faults, 
he  knew  how  she  looked  when  she  was  angry  and 
petulant.  He  knew  how  little  the  real  Marie  re 
sembled  the  speciously  amiable,  altogether  attractive 
Marie  who  faced  a  smiling  world  when  she  went 
pleasuring.  He  knew,  but  —  he  wanted  her  just 
the  same.  He  wanted  to  tell  her  so  many  things 
about  the  burros,  and  about  the  desert  —  things  that 

126 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

would  make  her  laugh,  and  things  that  would  make 
her  blink  back  the  tears.  He  was  homesick  for  her 
as  he  had  never  been  homesick  in  his  life  before. 

The  picture  flickered  on  through  scene  after  scene 
that  Bud  did  not  see  at  all,  though  he  was  staring 
unwinkingly  at  the  screen  all  the  while.  The  love 
scenes  at  the  last  were  poignantly  real,  but  they  passed 
before  his  eyes  unnoticed.  Bud's  mind  was  dwell 
ing  upon  certain  love  scenes  of  his  own.  He  was 
feeling  Marie's  presence  beside  him  there  in  the 
dusk. 

"  Poor  kid  —  she  wasn't  so  much  to  blame,"  he 
muttered  just  above  his  breath,  when  the  screen  was 
swept  clean  and  blank  at  the  end  of  the  last  reel. 

"  Huh  ?  Oh,  he  was  the  big  mutt,  right  from  the 
start,"  Frank  replied  with  the  assured  air  of  a  con 
noisseur.  "  He  didn't  have  the  brains  of  a  blue  jay, 
or  he'd  have  known  all  the  time  she  was  strong  for 
him." 

"  I  guess  that's  right,"  Bud  mumbled,  but  he  did 
not  mean  what  Frank  thought  he  meant.  "  Let's  go. 
I  want  a  drink." 

Frank  was  willing  enough ;  too  willing,  if  the  truth 
127 


CABIN  FEVER 

were  known.  They  went  out  into  the  cool  star 
light,  and  hurried  across  the  side  street  that  was  no 
more  than  a  dusty  roadway,  to  the  saloon  where  they 
had  spent  the  afternoon.  Bud  called  for  whisky,  and 
helped  himself  twice  from  the  bottle  which  the  bar 
tender  placed  between*them.  He  did  not  speak  until 
the  second  glass  was  emptied,  and  then  he  turned  to 
Frank  with  a  purple  glare  in  his  eyes. 

"  Let's  have  a  game  of  pool  or  something,"  he  sug 
gested. 

"  There's  a  good  poker  game  going,  back  there," 
vouchsafed  the  bartender,  turning  his  thumb  toward 
the  rear,  where  half  a  dozen  men  were  gathered  in 
a  close  group  around  a  table.  "  There's  some  real 
money  in  sight,  to-night." 

"  All  right,  let's  go  see."  Bud  turned  that  way, 
Frank  following  like  a  pet  dog  at  his  heels. 

At  dawn  the  next  morning,  Bud  got  up  stiffly  from 
the  chair  where  he  had  spent  the  night.  His  eye 
balls  showed  a  network  of  tiny  red  veins,  swollen 
with  the  surge  of  alcohol  in  his  blood  and  with  the 
strain  of  staring  all  night  at  the  cards.  Beneath 
his  eyes  were  puffy  ridges.  His  cheekbones  flamed 

128 


THE  BITE  OF  MEMORY 

with  the  whisky  flush.  He  cashed  in  a  double-hand 
ful  of  chips,  stuffed  the  money  he  had  won  into  his 
coat  pocket,  walked,  with  that  stiff  precision  of  gait 
by  which  a  drunken  man  strives  to  hide  his  drunk 
enness,  to  the  bar  and  had  another  drink.  Frank 
was  at  his  elbow.  Frank  was  staggering,  garrulous, 
laughing  a  great  deal  over  very  small  jokes. 

"  I'm  going  to  bed,"  said  Bud,  his  tongue  forming 
the  words  with  a  slow  carefulness. 

"  Come  over  to  my  shack,  Bud  —  rotten  hotel. 
My  bed's  clean,  anyway."  Frank  laughed  and 
plucked  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"All  right,"  Bud  consented  gravely.  "  We'll 
take  a  bottle  along." 


129 


CHAPTEE  TEN 

EMOTIONS   ARE    TRICKY    THINGS 

A  MAN'S  mind  is  a  tricky  thing  —  or,  speaking 
more  exactly,  a  man's  emotions  are  tricky 
things.  Love  has  come  rushing  to  the  beck  of  a  tip- 
tilted  chin,  or  the  tone  of  a  voice,  or  the  droop  of  an 
eyelid.  It  has  fled  for  cause  as  slight.  Sometimes 
it  runs  before  resentment  for  a  real  or  fancied  wrong, 
but  then,  if  you  have  observed  it  closely,  you  will 
see  that  quite  frequently,  when  anger  grows  slow 
of  foot,  or  dies  of  slow  starvation,  love  steals  back, 
all  unsuspected  and  unbidden  —  and  mayhap  causes 
much  distress  by  his  return!  It  is  like  a  sudden 
resurrection  of  all  the  loved,  long-mourned  dead  that 
sleep  so  serenely  in  their  tended  plots.  Loved  though 
they  were  and  long  mourned,  think  of  the  consterna 
tion  if  they  all  came  trooping  back  to  take  their  old 
places  in  life !  The  old  places  that  have  been  filled, 
most  of  them,  by  others  who  are  loved  as  dearly,  who 
would  be  mourned  if  they  were  taken  away. 

130 


EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS 

Psychologists  will  tell  us  all  about  the  subcon 
scious  mind,  the  hidden  loves  and  hates  and  longings 
which  we  believe  are  dead  and  long  forgotten.  When 
one  of  those  emotions  suddenly  comes  alive  and 
stands,  terribly  real  and  intrusive,  between  our  souls 
and  our  everyday  lives,  the  strongest  and  the  best  of 
us  may  stumble  and  grope  blindly  after  content,  or 
reparation,  or  forgetfulness,  or  whatever  seems  most 
likely  to  give  relief. 

I  am  apologizing  now  for  Bud,  who  had  spent  a 
good  many  months  in  pushing  all  thoughts  of  Marie 
out  of  his  mind,  all  hunger  for  her  out  of  his  heart. 
He  had  kept  away  from  towns,  from  women,  lest  he 
be  reminded  too  keenly  of  his  matrimonial  wreck. 
He  had  stayed  with  Cash  and  had  hunted  gold,  partly 
because  Cash  never  seemed  conscious  of  any  need  of  a 
home  or  love  or  wife  or  children,  and  therefore  never 
reminded  Bud  of  the  home  and  the  wife  and  the 
love  and  the  child  he  had  lost  out  of  his  own  life. 
Cash  seldom  mentioned  women  at  all,  and  when  he 
did  it  was  in  a  purely  general  way,  as  women  touched 
some  other  subject  he  was  discussing.  He  never 
paid  any  attention  to  the  children  they  met  casually 

131 


CABIN  FEVER 

in  their  travels.  He  seemed  absolutely  self-suffi 
cient,  interested  only  in  the  prospect  of  finding  a  pay 
ing  claim.  What  he  would  do  with  wealth,  if  so  be 
he  attained  it,  he  never  seemed  to  know  or  care.  He 
never  asked  Bud  any  questions  about  his  private  af 
fairs,  never  seemed  to  care  how  Bud  had  lived,  or 
where.  And  Bud  thankfully  left  his  past  behind  the 
wall  of  silence.  So  he  had  come  to  believe  that  he 
was  almost  as  emotion-proof  as  Cash  appeared  to  be, 
and  had  let  it  go  at  that. 

Now  here  he  was,  with  his  heart  and  his  mind  full 
of  Marie  —  after  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  of  for 
getting  her!  Getting  drunk  and  playing  poker  all 
night  did  not  help  him  at  all,  for  when  he  woke  it 
was  from  a  sweet,  intimate  dream  of  her,  and  it  was 
to  a  tormenting  desire  for  her,  that  gnawed  at  his 
mind  as  hunger  gnaws  at  the  stomach.  Bud  could 
not  understand  it.  Nothing  like  that  had  ever  hap 
pened  to  him  before.  By  all  his  simple  rules  of 
reckoning  he  ought  to  be  "  over  it "  by  now.  He 
had  been,  until  he  saw  that  picture. 

He  was  so  very  far  from  being  over  his  trouble  that 
he  was  under  it;  a  beaten  dog  wincing  under  the 

132 


EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS 

blows  of  memory,  stung  by  the  lash  of  his  longing. 
He  groaned,  and  Frank  thought  it  was  the  usual 
"  morning  after  "  headache,  and  laughed  ruefully. 

"  Same  here,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  one  like  a 
barrel,  and  I  didn't  punish  half  the  booze  you  did." 

Bud  did  not  say  anything,  but  he  reached  for  the 
bottle,  tilted  it  and  swallowed  three  times  before  he 
stopped. 

"  Gee !  "  whispered  Frank,  a  little  enviously. 

Bud  glanced  somberly  across  at  Frank,  who  was 
sitting  by  the  stove  with  his  jaws  between  his  palms 
and  his  hair  towsled,  regarding  his  guest  specula- 
tively. 

"  I'm  going  to  get  drunk  again,"  Bud  announced 
bluntly.  "  If  you  don't  want  to,  you'd  better  duck. 
You're  too  easy  led  —  I  saw  that  last  night.  You 
follow  anybody's  lead  that  you  happen  to  be  with. 
If  you  follow  my  lead  to-day,  you'll  be  petrified  by 
night.  You  better  git,  and  let  me  go  it  alone." 

Frank  laughed  uneasily.  "  Aw,  I  guess  you  ain't 
all  that  fatal,  Bud.  Let's  go  over  and  have  some 
breakfast  —  only  it'll  be  dinner." 

"  You  go,  if  you  want  to."  Bud  tilted  the  bottle 
133 


CABIN  FEVER 

again,  his  eyes  half  closed  while  he  swallowed. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  shuddered  violently  at  the 
taste  of  the  whisky.  He  got  up,  went  to  the  water 
bucket  and  drank  half  a  dipper  of  water.  "  Good 
glory !  I  hate  whisky,"  he  grumbled.  "  Takes  a  bar 
rel  to  have  any  effect  on  me  too."  He  turned  and 
looked  down  at  Frank  with  a  morose  kind  of  pity. 
"  You  go  on  and  get  your  breakfast,  kid.  I  don't 
want  any.  I'll  stay  here  for  awhile." 

He  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  cheap,  iron  bed 
stead,  and  emptied  his  pockets  on  the  top  quilt.  He 
straightened  the  crumpled  bills  and  counted  them, 
and  sorted  the  silver  pieces.  All  told,  he  had  sixty- 
three  dollars  and  twenty  cents.  He  sat  fingering  the 
money  absently,  his  mind  upon  other  things.  Upon 
Marie  and  the  baby,  to  be  exact.  He  was  fighting 
the  impulse  to  send  Marie  the  money.  She  might 
need  it  for  the  kid.  If  he  was  sure  her  mother 
wouldn't  get  any  of  it.  ...  A  year  and  a  half  was 
quite  a  while,  and  fifteen  hundred  dollars  wasn't 
much  to  live  on  these  days.  She  couldn't  work,  with 
the  baby  on  her  hands.  .  .  . 

Frank  watched  him  curiously,  his  jaws  still  rest- 
134 


EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS 

ing  between  his  two  palms,  his  eyes  red-rimmed  and 
swollen,  his  lips  loose  and  trembling.  A  dollar  alarm 
clock  ticked  resonantly,  punctuated  now  and  then  by 
the  dull  clink  of  silver  as  Bud  lifted  a  coin  and  let 
it  drop  on  the  little  pile. 

"Pretty  good  luck  you  had  last  night,"  Frank 
ventured  wishfully.  "  They  cleaned  me." 

Bud  straightened  his  drooping  shoulders  and 
scooped  the  money  into  his  hand.  He  laughed  reck 
lessly,  and  got  up.  "  We'll  try  her  another  whirl, 
and  see  if  luck'll  bring  luck.  Come  on  —  let's  go 
hunt  up  some  of  them  marks  that  got  all  the  dough 
last  night.  We'll  split,  fifty-fifty,  and  the  same  with 
what  we  win.  Huh  ?  " 

"  You're  on,  bo  —  let's  go."  Bud  had  gauged  him 
correctly  —  Frank  would  follow  any  one  who  would 
lead.  He  got  up  and  came  to  the  table  where  Bud 
was  dividing  the  money  into  two  equal  sums,  as 
nearly  as  he  could  make  change.  What  was  left  over 
—  and  that  was  the  three  dollars  and  twenty  cents  — 
he  tossed  into  the  can  of  tobacco  on  a  shelf. 

"  We'll  let  that  ride  —  to  sober  up  on,  if  we  go 
broke,"  he  grunted.  "  Come  on  —  let's  get  action." 

135 


CABIN  FEVER 

Action,  of  a  sort,  they  proceeded  to  get.  Luck 
brought  luck  of  the  same  complexion.  They  won  in 
fluctuating  spells  of  good  cards  and  judicious  team 
work.  They  did  not  cheat,  though  Frank  was  ready 
if  Bud  had  led  him  that  way.  Frank  was  ready  for 
anything  that  Bud  suggested.  He  drank  when  Bud 
drank,  went  from  the  first  saloon  to  the  one  farther 
down  and  across  the  street,  returned  to  the  first  with 
cheerful  alacrity  and  much  meaningless  laughter 
when  Bud  signified  a  desire  to  change.  It  soothed 
Bud  and  irritated  him  by  turns,  this  ready  acquies 
cence  of  Frank's.  He  began  to  take  a  malicious  de 
light  in  testing  that  acquiescence.  He  began  to  try 
whether  he  could  not  find  the  end  of  Frank's  en 
durance  in  staying  awake,  his  capacity  for  drink,  his 
good  nature,  his  credulity  —  he  ran  the  scale  of 
Frank's  various  qualifications,  seeking  always  to  es 
tablish  a  well-defined  limitation  somewhere. 

But  Frank  was  utterly,  absolutely  plastic.  He 
laughed  and  drank  when  Bud  suggested  that  they 
drink.  He  laughed  and  played  whatever  game  Bud 
urged  him  into.  He  laughed  and  agreed  with  Bud 
when  Bud  made  statements  to  test  the  credulity  of 

136  W 


EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS 

any  man.     He  laughed  and  said,  "  Sure.     Let's  go !  " 
when  Bud  pined  for  a  change  of  scene. 

On  the  third  day  Bud  suddenly  stopped  in  the 
midst  of  a  game  of  pool  which  neither  was  steady 
enough  to  play,  and  gravely  inspected  the  chalked 
end  of  his  cue. 

"  That's  about  enough  of  this/'  he  said.  "  We're 
drunk.  We're  so  drunk  we  don't  know  a  pocket  from 
a  prospect  hole.  I'm  tired  of  being  a  hog.  I'm 
going  to  go  get  another  drink  and  sober  up.  And  if 
you're  the  dog  Fido  you've  been  so  far,  you'll  do  the 
same."  He  leaned  heavily  upon  the  table,  and  re 
garded  Frank  with  stern,  bloodshot  blue  eyes. 

Frank  laughed  and  slid  his  cue  the  length  of  the 
table.  He  also  leaned  a  bit  heavily.  "  Sure,"  he 
said.  "  I'm  ready,  any  time  you  are." 

"  Some  of  these  days,"  Bud  stated  with  drunken 
deliberation,  "  they'll  take  and  hang  you,  Frank,  for 
being  such  an  agreeable  cuss."  He  took  Frank 
gravely  by  the  arm  and  walked  him  to  the  bar,  paid 
for  two  beers  with  almost  his  last  dollar,  and,  still 
holding  Frank  firmly,  walked  him  out  of  doors  and 
down  the  street  to  Frank's  cabin.  He  pushed  him 

137 


CABIN  FEVER 

inside  and  stood  looking  in  upon  him  with  a  sour 
appraisement. 

"  You  are  the  derndest  fool  I  ever  run  across  — 
but  at  that  you're  a  good  scout  too/'  he  informed 
Frank.  "  You  sober  up  now,  like  I  said.  You 
ought  to  know  better  'n  to  act  the  way  you've  been 
acting.  I'm  sure  ashamed  of  you,  Frank.  Adios  — 
I'm  going  to  hit  the  trail  for  camp."  With  that  he 
pulled  the  door  shut  and  walked  away,  with  that 
same  circumspect  exactness  in  his  stride  which  marks 
the  drunken  man  as  surely  as  does  a  stagger. 

He  remembered  what  it  was  that  had  brought  him 
to  town  —  which  is  more  than  most  men  in  his  con 
dition  would  have  done.  He  went  to  the  post  office 
and  inquired  for  mail,  got  what  proved  to  be  the 
assayer's  report,  and  went  on.  He  bought  half  a 
dozen  bananas  which  did  not  remind  him  of  that 
night  when  he  had  waited  on  the  Oakland  pier  for 
the  mysterious  Foster,  though  they  might  have  re 
called  the  incident  vividly  to  mind  had  he  been  sober. 
He  had  been  wooing  forgetfulness,  and  for  the  time 
being  he  had  won. 

Walking  up  the  steep,  winding  trail  that  led  to 
138 


EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS 

Nelson  Flat  cleared  a  little  his  fogged  brain.  He 
began  to  remember  what  it  was  that  he  had  been 
fighting  to  forget.  Marie's  face  floated  sometimes 
before  him,  but  the  vision  was  misty  and  remote, 
like  distant  woodland  seen  through  the  gray  film  of  a 
storm.  The  thought  of  her  filled  him  with  a  vague 
discomfort  now  when  his  emotions  were  dulled  by  the 
terrific  strain  he  had  wilfully  put  upon  brain  and 
body.  Resentment  crept  into  the  foreground  again. 
Marie  had  made  him  suffer.  Marie  was  to  blame 
for  this  beastly  fit  of  intoxication.  He  did  not  love 
Marie  —  he  hated  her.  He  did  not  want  to  see 
her,  he  did  not  want  to  think  of  her.  She  had  done 
nothing  for  him  but  bring  him  trouble.  Marie,  for 
sooth!  (Only,  Bud  put  it  in  a  slightly  different 
way.) 

Halfway  to  the  flat,  he  met  Cash  walking  down 
the  slope  where  the  trail  seemed  tunneled  through 
deep  green,  so  thick  stood  the  young  spruce.  Cash 
was  swinging  his  arms  in  that  free  stride  of  the  man 
who  has  learned  how  to  walk  with  the  least  effort. 
He  did  not  halt  when  he  saw  Bud  plodding  slowly 
up  the  trail,  but  came  on  steadily,  his  keen,  blue- 

139 


CABIN  FEVER 

gray  eyes  peering  sharply  from  beneath  his  forward 
tilted  hat  brim.  He  came  up  to  within  ten  feet  of 
Bud,  and  stopped. 

"  Well !  "  He  stood  eyeing  Bud  appraisingly, 
much  as  Bud  had  eyed  Frank  a  couple  of  hours  be 
fore.  "  I  was  just  starting  out  to  see  what  had 
become  of  you,"  he  added,  his  voice  carrying  the  full 
weight  of  reproach  that  the  words  only  hinted  at. 

"  Well,  get  an  eyeful,  if  that's  what  you  come  for. 
I'm  here  —  and  lookin's  cheap."  Bud's  anger  flared 
at  the  disapproval  he  read  in  Cash's  eyes,  his  voice, 
the  set  of  his  lips. 

But  Cash  did  not  take  the  challenge.  "Did  the 
report  come  ?  "  he  asked,  as  though  that  was  the  only 
matter  worth  discussing. 

Bud  pulled  the  letter  sullenly  from  his  pocket  and 
gave  it  to  Cash.  He  stood  moodily  waiting  while 
Cash  opened  and  read  and  returned  it. 

"  Yeah.  About  what  I  thought  —  only  it  runs 
lighter  in  gold,  with  a  higher  percentage  of  copper. 
It'll  pay  to  go  on  and  see  what's  at  bed  rock.  If  the 
copper  holds  up  to  this  all  along,  we'll  be  figuring 
on  the  gold  to  pay  for  getting  the  copper.  This  is 

140 


EMOTIONS  ARE  TRICKY  THINGS 

copper  country,  Bud.  Looks  like  we'd  found  us  a 
copper  mine."  He  turned  and  walked  on  beside 
Bud.  "  I  dug  into  quite  a  rich  streak  of  sand  while 
you  was  gone,"  he  volunteered  after  a  silence. 
"  Coarse  gold,  as  high  as  fifteen  cents  a  pan.  I  fig 
ure  we  better  work  that  while  the  weather's  good,  and 
run  our  tunnel  in  on  this  other  when  snow  comes." 

Bud  turned  his  head  and  looked  at  Cash  intently 
for  a  minute.  "  I've  been  drunker'n  a  fool  for  three 
days,"  he  announced  solemnly. 

"  Yeah.  You  look  it,"  was  Cash's  dry  retort, 
while  he  stared  straight  ahead,  up  the  steep,  shadowed 
trail. 


141 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

THE    FIEST    STAGES 

FOE  a  month  Bud  worked  and  forced  himself 
to  cheerfulness,  and  tried  to  forget.  Some 
times  it  was  easy  enough,  but  there  were  other  times 
when  he  must  get  away  by  himself  and  walk  and 
walk,  with  his  rifle  over  his  shoulder  as  a  mild  pre 
tense  that  he  was  hunting  game.  But  if  he  brought 
any  back  to  camp  it  was  because  the  game  walked  up 
and  waited  to  be  shot;  half  the  time  Bud  did  not 
know  where  he  was  going,  much  less  whether  there 
were  deer  within  ten  rods  or  ten  miles. 

During  those  spells  of  heartsickness  he  would  sit 
all  the  evening  and  smoke  and  stare  at  some  object 
which  his  mind  failed  to  register.  Cash  would  sit 
and  watch  him  furtively;  but  Bud  was  too  engrossed 
with  his  own  misery  to  notice  it.  Then,  quite  unex 
pectedly,  reaction  would  come  and  leave  Bud  in  a 
peace  that  was  more  than  half  a  torpid  refusal  of  his 
mind  to  worry  much  over  anything. 

142 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

He  worked  then,  and  talked  much  with  Cash,  and 
made  plans  for  the  development  of  their  mine.  In 
that  month  they  had  come  to  call  it  a  mine,  and  they 
had  filed  and  recorded  their  claim,  and  had  drawn 
up  an  agreement  of  partnership  in  it.  They  would 
"  sit  tight "  and  work  on  it  through  the  winter,  and 
when  spring  came  they  hoped  to  have  something 
tangible  upon  which  to  raise  sufficient  capital  to 
develop  it  properly.  Or,  times  when  they  had  done 
unusually  well  with  their  sandbank,  they  would  talk 
optimistically  about  washing  enough  gold  out  of  that 
claim  to  develop  the  other,  and  keep  the  title  all  in 
their  own  hands. 

Then,  one  night  Bud  dreamed  again  of  Marie,  and 
awoke  with  an  insistent  craving  for  the  oblivion  of 
drunkenness.  He  got  up  and  cooked  the  breakfast, 
washed  the  dishes  and  swept  the  cabin,  and  meas 
ured  out  two  ounces  of  gold  from  what  they  had 
saved. 

"  You're  keeping  tabs  on  everything,  Cash,"  he 
said  shortly.  "  Just  charge  this  up  to  me.  I'm 
going  to  town." 

Cash  looked  up  at  him  from  under  a  slanted  eye- 
143 


CABIN  FEVER 

brow.     His  lips  had  a  twist  of  pained  disapproval. 

"  Yeah.  I  figured  you  was  about  due  in  town,' 
he  said  resignedly. 

"  Aw,  lay  off  that  told-you-so  stuff,"  Bud  growled. 
"  You  never  figured  anything  of  the  kind,  and  you 
know  it."  He  pulled  his  heavy  sweater  down  off  a 
nail  and  put  it  on,  scowling  because  the  sleeves  had 
to  be  pulled  in  place  on  his  arms. 

"  Too  bad  you  can't  wait  a  day.  I  figured  we'd 
have  a  clean-up  to-morrow,  maybe.  She's  been  run 
ning  pretty  heavy  — " 

"  Well,  go  ahead  and  clean  up,  then.  You  can  do 
it  alone.  Or  wait  till  I  get  back." 

Cash  laughed,  as  a  retort  cutting,  and  not  be 
cause  he  was  amused.  Bud  swore  and  went  out, 
slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

It  was  exactly  five  days  after  that  when  he  opened 
it  again.  Cash  was  mixing  a  batch  of  sour-dough 
bread  into  loaves,  and  he  did  not  say  anything  at 
all  when  Bud  came  in  and  stood  beside  the  stove, 
warming  his  hands  and  glowering  around  the  room. 
He  merely  looked  up,  and  then  went  on  with  his 
bread  making. 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

Bud  was  not  a  pretty  sight.  Four  days  and  nights 
of  trying  to  see  how  much  whisky  he  could  drink, 
and  how  long  he  could  play  poker  without  going  to 
sleep  or  going  broke,  had  left  their  mark  on  his  face 
and  his  trembling  hands.  His  eyes  were  puffy  and 
red,  and  his  cheeks  were  mottled,  and  his  lips  were 
fevered  and  had  lost  any  sign  of  a  humorous  quirk  at 
the  corners.  He  looked  ugly;  as  if  he  would  like 
nothing  better  than  an  excuse  to  quarrel  with  Cash  — 
since  Cash  was  the  only  person  at  hand  to  quarrel 
with. 

But  Cash  had  not  knocked  around  the  world  for 
nothing.  He  had  seen  men  in  that  mood  before, 
and  he  had  no  hankering  for  trouble  which  is  vastly 
easier  to  start  than  it  is  to  stop.  He  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  Bud.  He  made  his  loaves,  tucked  them  into 
the  pan  and  greased  the  top  with  bacon  grease  saved 
in  a  tomato  can  for  such  use.  He  set  the  pan  on  a 
shelf  behind  the  stove,  covered  it  with  a  clean  flour 
sack,  opened  the  stove  door,  and  slid  in  two  sticks. 

"  She's  getting  cold,"  he  observed  casually.  "  It'll 
be  winter  now  before  we  know  it." 

Bud  grunted,  pulled  an  empty  box  toward  him  by 
145 


CABIN  FEVER 

the  simple  expedient  of  hooking  his  toes  behind  the 
corner,  and  sat  down.  He  set  his  elbows  on  his 
thighs  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  His  hat 
dropped  off  his  head  and  lay  crown  down  beside  him. 
He  made  a  pathetic  figure  of  miserable  manhood,  of 
strength  mistreated.  His  fine,  brown  hair  fell  in 
heavy  locks  down  over  his  fingers  that  rested  on  his 
forehead.  Five  minutes  so,  and  he  lifted  his  head 
and  glanced  around  him  apathetically.  "  Gee- 
man-ee,  I've  got  a  headache !  "  he  muttered,  dropping 
his  forehead  into  his  spread  palms  again 

Cash  hesitated,  derision  hiding  in  the  back  of  his 
eyes.  Then  he  pushed  the  dented  coffeepot  forward 
on  the  stove. 

''  Try  a  cup  of  coffee  straight,''  he  said  unemo 
tionally,  "  and  then  lay  down.  You'll  sleep  it  off  in 
a  few  hours." 

Bud  did  not  look  up,  or  make  any  move  to  show 
that  he  heard.  But  presently  he  rose  and  went 
heavily  over  to  his  bunk.  "  I  don't  want  any  darn 
coffee,"  he  growled,  and  sprawled  himself  stomach 
down  on  the  bed,  with  his  face  turned  from  the 
light. 

146 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

Cash  eyed  him  coldly,  with  the  corner  of  his  upper 
lip  lifted  a  little.  Whatever  weaknesses  he  pos 
sessed,  drinking  and  gambling  had  no  place  in  the 
list.  Nor  had  he  any  patience  with  those  faults  in 
others.  Had  Bud  walked  down  drunk  to  Cash's 
camp,  that  evening  when  they  first  met,  he  might 
have  received  a  little  food  doled  out  to  him  grudg 
ingly,  but  he  assuredly  would  not  have  slept  in  Cash's 
bed  that  night.  That  he  tolerated  drunkenness  in 
Bud  now  would  have  been  rather  surprising  to  any 
one  who  knew  Cash  well.  Perhaps  he  had  a  vague 
understanding  of  the  deeps  through  which  Bud  was 
struggling,  and  so  was  constrained  to  hide  his  dis 
approval,  hoping  that  the  moral  let-down  was  merely 
a  temporary  one. 

He  finished  his  strictly  utilitarian  household  labor 
and  went  off  up  the  flat  to  the  sluice  boxes  Bud 
had  not  moved  from  his  first  position  on  the  bed,  but 
he  did  not  breathe  like  a  sleeping  man.  Not  at  first ; 
after  an  hour  or  so  he  did  sleep,  heavily  and  with 
queer,  muddled  dreams  that  had  no  sequence  and 
left  only  a  disturbed  sense  of  discomfort  behind 
them. 

147 


CABIN  FEVER 

At  noon  or  a  little  after  Cash  returned  to  the 
cabin,  cast  a  sour  look  of  contempt  at  the  recumbent 
Bud,  and  built  a  fire  in  the  old  cookstove.  He  got 
his  dinner,  ate  it,  and  washed  his  dishes  with  never 
a  word  to  Bud,  who  had  wakened  and  lay  with  his 
eyes  half  open,  sluggishly  miserable  and  staring  dully 
at  the  rough  spruce  logs  of  the  wall. 

Cash  put  on  his  cap,  looked  at  Bud  and  gave  a 
snort,  and  went  off  again  to  his  work.  Bud  lay 
still  for  awhile  longer,  staring  dully  at  the  wall. 
Finally  he  raised  up,  swung  his  feet  to  the  floor,  and 
sat  there  staring  around  the  little  cabin  as  though 
he  had  never  before  seen  it. 

"  Huh !  You'd  think,  the  way  he  highbrows  me, 
that  Cash  never  done  wrong  in  his  life !  Tin  angel, 
him  —  I  don't  think.  JSText  time,  I'll  tell  a  pin- 
headed  world  I'll  have  to  bring  home  a  quart  or  two, 
and  put  on  a  show  right!" 

Just  what  he  meant  by  that  remained  rather  ob 
scure,  even  to  Bud.  He  got  up,  shut  his  eyes  very 
tight  and  then  opened  them  wide  to  clear  his  vision, 
shook  himself  into  his  clothes  and  went  over  to  the 
stove.  Cash  had  not  left  the  coffeepot  on  the  stove 

148 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

but  had,  with  malicious  intent  —  or  so  Bud  believed 
• — put  it  away  on  the  shelf  so  that  what  coffee  re 
mained  was  stone  cold.  Bud  muttered  and  threw 
out  the  coffee,  grounds  and  all  —  a  bit  of  bachelor 
extravagance  which  only  anger  could  drive  him  to  — 
and  made  fresh  coffee,  and  made  it  strong.  He  did 
not  want  it.  He  drank  it  for  the  work  of  physical 
regeneration  it  would  do  for  him. 

He  lay  down  afterwards,  and  this  time  he  dropped 
into  a  more  nearly  normal  sleep,  which  lasted  until 
Cash  returned  at  dusk.  After  that  he  lay  with  his 
face  hidden,  awake  and  thinking.  Thinking,  for  the 
most  part,  of  how  dull  and  purposeless  life  was,  and 
wondering  why  the  world  was  made,  or  the  people 
in  it  —  since  nobody  was  happy,  and  few  even  pre 
tended  to  be.  Did  God  really  make  the  world,  and 
man,  just  to  play  with  —  for  a  pastime  ?  Then 
why  bother  about  feeling  ashamed  for  anything  one 
did  that  was  contrary  to  God's  laws  ? 

Why  be  puffed  up  with  pride  for  keeping  one  or 
two  of  them  unbroken  —  like  Cash,  for  instance. 
Just  because  Cash  nevei  drank  or  played  cards,  what 
right  had  he  to  charge  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the 

149 


CABIN  FEVER 

cabin  with  his  contempt  and  his  disapproval  of  Bud, 
who  chose  to  do  both? 

On  the  other  hand,  why  did  he  choose  a  spree  as 
a  relief  from  his  particular  bunch  of  ghosts  ?  Trad 
ing  one  misery  for  another  was  all  you  could  call 
it.  Doing  exactly  the  things  that  Marie's  mother 
had  predicted  he  would  do,  committing  the  very  sins 
that  Marie  was  always  a  little  afraid  he  would  com 
mit  —  there  must  be  some  sort  of  twisted  revenge  in 
that,  he  thought,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not 
quite  see  any  real,  permanent  satisfaction  in  it  — 
especially  since  Marie  and  her  mother  would  never 
get  to  hear  of  it. 

For  that  matter,  he  was  not  so  sure  that  they 
would  not  get  to  hear.  He  remembered  meeting,  just 
on  the  first  edge  of  his  spree,  one  Joe  De  Barr,  a 
cigar  salesman  whom  he  had  known  in  San  Jose. 
Joe  knew  Marie  —  in  fact,  Joe  had  paid  her  a  little 
attention  before  Bud  came  into  her  life.  Joe  had 
been  in  Alpine  between  trains,  taking  orders  for 
goods  from  the  two  saloons  and  the  hotel.  He  had 
seen  Bud  drinking.  Bud  knew  perfectly  well  how 
much  Joe  had  seen  him  drinking,  and  he  knew 

150 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

perfectly  well  that  Joe  was  surprised  to  the  point  of 
amazement  —  and,  Bud  suspected,  secretly  gratified 
as  well.  Wherefore  Bud  had  deliberately  done  what 
he  could  do  to  stimulate  and  emphasize  both  the  sur 
prise  and  the  gratification.  Why  is  it  that  most 
human  beings  feel  a  sneaking  satisfaction  in  the 
downfall  of  another  ?  Especially  another  who  is,  or 
has  been  at  some  time,  a  rival  in  love  or  in  busi 
ness? 

Bud  had  no  delusions  concerning  Joe  De  Barr. 
If  Joe  should  happen  to  meet  Marie,  he  would  man 
age  somehow  to  let  her  know  that  Bud  was  going  to 
the  dogs  —  on  the  toboggan  —  down  and  out  — 
whatever  it  suited  Joe  to  declare  him.  It  made  Bud 
sore  now  to  think  of  Joe  standing  so  smug  and  so  well 
dressed  and  so  immaculate  beside  the  bar,  smiling  and 
twisting  the  ends  of  his  little  brown  mustache  while 
he  watched  Bud  make  such  a  consummate  fool  of 
himself.  At  the  time,  though,  Bud  had  taken  a 
perverse  delight  in  making  himself  appear  more  sod- 
denly  drunken,  more  boisterous  and  reckless  than  he 
really  was. 

Oh,  well,  what  was  the  odds?  Marie  couldn't 
151 


CABIN  FEVER 

think  any  worse  of  him  than  she  already  thought. 
And  whatever  she  thought,  their  trails  had  parted, 
and  they  would  never  cross  again  —  not  if  Bud  could 
help  it.  Probably  Marie  would  say  amen  to  that. 
He  would  like  to  know  how  she  was  getting  along  — 
and  the  baby,  too.  Though  the  baby  had  never 
seemed  quite  real  to  Bud,  or  as  if  it  were  a  perma 
nent  member  of  the  household.  It  was  a  leather- 
lunged,  red-faced,  squirming  little  mite,  and  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  Bud  had  not  felt  as  though  it  belonged 
to  him  at  all.  He  had  never  rocked  it,  for  instance, 
or  carried  it  in  his  arms.  He  had  been  afraid  he 
might  drop  it,  or  squeeze  it  too  hard,  or  break  it  some 
how  with  his  man's  strength.  When  he  thought  of 
Marie  he  did  not  necessarily  think  of  the  baby, 
though  sometimes  he  did,  wondering  vaguely  how 
much  it  had  grown,  and  if  it  still  hollered  for  its  bot 
tle,  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night. 

Coming  back  to  Marie  and  Joe  —  it  was  not  at  all 
certain  that  they  would  meet ;  or  that  Joe  would  men 
tion  him,  even  if  they  did.  A  wrecked  home  is  al 
ways  a  touchy  subject,  so  touchy  that  Joe  had  never 
intimated  in  his  few  remarks  to  Bud  that  there  had 

152 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

ever  been  a  Marie,  and  Bud,  drunk  as  he  had  been, 
was  still  not  too  drunk  to  hold  back  the  question  that 
clamored  to  be  spoken. 

Whether  he  admitted  it  to  himself  or  not,  the  sober 
Bud  Moore  who  lay  on  his  bunk  nursing  a  headache 
and  a  grouch  against  the  world  was  ashamed  of  the 
drunken  Bud  Moore  who  had  paraded  his  drunken 
ness  before  the  man  who  knew  Marie.  He  did  not 
want  Marie  to  hear'what  Joe  might  tell.  There  was 
no  use,  he  told  himself  miserably,  in  making  Marie 
despise  him  as  well  as  hate  him.  There  was  a  differ 
ence.  She  might  think  him  a  brute,  and  she  might 
accuse  him  of  failing  to  be  a  kind  and  loving  hus 
band  ;  but  she  could  not,  unless  Joe  told  of  his  spree, 
say  that  she  had  ever  heard  of  his  carousing  around. 
That  it  would  be  his  own  fault  if  she  did  hear,  served 
only  to  embitter  his  mood. 

He  rolled  over  and  glared  at  Cash,  who  had  cooked 
his  supper  and  was  sitting  down  to  eat  it  alone. 
Cash  was  looking  particularly  misanthropic  as  he 
bent  his  head  to  meet  the  upward  journey  of  his 
coffee  cup,  and  his  eyes,  when  they  lifted  involun 
tarily  with  Bud's  sudden  movement,  had  still  that 

153 


CABIN  FEVER 

hard  look  of  bottled-up  rancor  that  had  impressed  it 
self  upon  Bud  earlier  in  the  day. 

Neither  man  spoke,  or  made  any  sign  of  friendly 
recognition.  Bud  would  not  have  talked  to  any  one 
in  his  present  state  of  self-disgust,  but  for  all  that 
Cash's  silence  rankled.  A  moment  their  eyes  met 
and  held ;  then  with  shifted  glances  the  souls  of  them 
drew  apart  —  farther  apart  than  they  had  ever  been, 
even  when  they  quarreled  over  Pete,  down  in  Ari 
zona. 

When  Cash  had  finished  and  was  filling  his  pipe, 
Bud  got  up  and  reheated  the  coffee,  and  fried  more 
bacon  and  potatoes,  Cash  having  cooked  just  enough 
for  himself.  Cash  smoked  and  gave  no  heed,  and 
Bud  retorted  by  eating  in  silence  and  in  straightway 
washing  his  own  cup,  plate,  knife,  and  fork,  and 
wiping  clean  the  side  of  the  table  where  he  always 
sat.  He  did  not  look  at  Cash,  but  he  felt  morbidly 
that  Cash  was  regarding  him  with  that  hateful  sneer 
hidden  under  his  beard.  He  knew  that  it  was  silly 
to  keep  that  stony  silence,  but  he  kept  telling  himself 
that  if  Cash  wanted  to  talk,  he  had  a  tongue,  and  it 
was  not  tied.  Besides,  Cash  had  registered  pretty 

154 


THE  FIRST  STAGES 

plainly  his  intentions  and  his  wishes  when  he  ex 
cluded  Bud  from  his  supper. 

It  was  a  foolish  quarrel,  hut  it  was  that  kind  of 
foolish  quarrel  which  is  very  apt  to  harden  into  a 
lasting  one. 


155 


CHAPTEE  TWELVE 

MARIE    TAKES    A    DESPERATE    CHANCE 

DOMESTIC  wrecks  may  be  a  subject  taboo  in 
polite  conversation,  but  Joe  De  Barr  was  not 
excessively  polite,  and  he  had,  moreover,  a  very  likely 
hope  that  Marie  would  yet  choose  to  regard  him  with 
more  favor  than  she  had  shown  in  the  past.  He  did 
not  chance  to  see  her  at  once,  but  as  soon  as  his  work 
would  permit  he  made  it  a  point  to  meet  her.  He 
went  about  it  with  beautiful  directness.  He  made 
bold  to  call  her  up  on  "  long  distance  "  from  San 
Francisco,  told  her  that  he  would  be  in  San  Jose 
that  night,  and  invited  her  to  a  show. 

Marie  accepted  without  enthusiasm  —  and  her 
listlessness  was  not  lost  over  forty  miles  of  telephone 
wire.  Enough  of  it  seeped  to  Joe's  ears  to  make 
him  twist  his  mustache  quite  furiously  when  he  came 
out  of  the  telephone  booth.  If  she  was  still  stuck 
on  that  fellow  Bud,  and  couldn't  see  anybody  else,  it 
was  high  time  she  was  told  a  few  things  about  him. 

156 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

It  was  queer  how  a  nice  girl  like  Marie  would  hang 
on  to  some  cheap  guy  like  Bud  Moore.  Regular  fel 
lows  didn't  stand  any  show  —  unless  they  played 
what  cards  happened  to  fall  their  way.  Joe,  warned 
by  her  indifference,  set  himself  very  seriously  to  the 
problem  of  playing  his  cards  to  the  best  advantage. 

He  went  into  a  flower  store  —  disdaining  the 
banked  loveliness  upon  the  corners  —  and  bought 
Marie  a  dozen  great,  heavy-headed  chrysanthemums, 
whose  color  he  could  not  name  to  save  his  life,  so 
called  them  pink  and  let  it  go  at  that.  They  were 
not  pink,  and  they  were  not  sweet  —  Joe  held  the 
bunch  well  away  from  his  protesting  olfactory  nerves 
which  were  not  educated  to  tantalizing  odors  —  but 
they  were  more  expensive  than  roses,  and  he  knew 
that  women  raved  over  them.  He  expected  Marie 
to  rave  over  them,  whether  she  liked  them  or  not. 

Fortified  by  these,  groomed  and  perfumed  and  as 
prosperous  looking  as  a  tobacco  salesman  with  a  gen 
erous  expense  account  may  be,  he  went  to  San  Jose 
on  an  early  evening  train  that  carried  a  parlor  car  in 
which  Joe  made  himself  comfortable.  He  fooled 
even  the  sophisticated  porter  into  thinking  him  a  mil- 

157 


CABIN  FEVER 

lionaire,  wherefore  he  arrived  in  a  glow  of  self-es 
teem,  which  bred  much  optimism. 

Marie  was  impressed  —  at  least  with  his  assurance 
and  the  chrysanthemums,  over  which  she  was  suffi 
ciently  enthusiastic  to  satisfy  even  Joe.  Since  he 
had  driven  to  the  house  in  a  hired  automobile,  he 
presently  had  the  added  satisfaction  of  handing  Marie 
into  the  tonneau  as  though  she  were  a  queen  entering 
the  royal  chariot,  and  of  ordering  the  driver  to  take 
them  out  around  the  golf  links,  since  it  was  still  very 
early.  Then,  settling  back  with  what  purported  to 
be  a  sigh  of  bliss,  he  regarded  Marie  sitting  small  and 
still  and  listless  beside  him.  The  glow  of  the  chrys 
anthemums  had  already  faded.  Marie,  with  all  the 
girlish  prettiness  she  had  ever  possessed,  and  with  an 
added  charm  that  was  very  elusive  and  hard  to  an 
alyze,  seemed  to  have  lost  all  of  her  old  anima 
tion. 

Joe  tried  the  weather,  and  the  small  gossip  of  the 
film  world,  and  a  judiciously  expurgated  sketch  of 
his  life  since  he  had  last  seen  her.  Marie  answered 
him  whenever  his  monologue  required  answer,  but 
she  was  unresponsive,  uninterested  —  bored.  Joe 

158 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

twisted  his  mustache,  eyed  her  aslant  and  took  the 
plunge. 

"  I  guess  joy-ridin'  kinda  calls  up  old  times,  ay  ?  " 
he  began  insidiously.  "  Maybe  I  shouldn't  have 
brought  you  out  for  a  ride ;  maybe  it  brings  back  pain 
ful  memories,  as  the  song  goes." 

"  Oh,  no/7  said  Marie  spiritlessly.  "  I  don't  see 
why  it  should." 

"  No  ?  Well,  that's  good  to  hear  you  say  so,  girlie. 
I  was  kinda  afraid  maybe  trouble  had  hit  you  hard. 
A  sensitive,  big-hearted  little  person  like  you.  But 
if  you've  put  it  all  outa  your  mind,  why,  that's  where 
you're  dead  right.  Personally,  I  was  glad  to  see  you 
saw  where  you'd  made  a  mistake,  and  backed  up. 
That  takes  grit  and  brains.  Of  course,  we  all  make 
mistakes  —  you  wasn't  to  blame  —  innocent  little  kid 
like  you  — " 

"  Yes,"  said  Marie,  "  I  guess  I  made  a  mistake,  all 
right." 

"  Sure !  But  you  seen  it  and  backed  up.  And  a 
good  thing  you  did.  Look  what  he'd  of  brought  you 
to  by  now,  if  you'd  stuck !  " 

Marie  tilted  back  her  head  and  looked  up  at  the 
159 


CABIN  FEVER 

tall  row  of  eucalyptus  trees  feathered  against  the 
stars.  "  What  ?  "  she  asked  uninterestedly. 

"  Well  —  I  don't  want  to  knock,  especially  a  fel 
low  that's  on  the  toboggan  already.  But  I  know  a 
little  girl  that's  aw-fully  lucky,  and  I'm  honest 
enough  to  say  so." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Marie  obligingly.  "  Why  —  in 
particular  ? " 

u  Why  in  particular  ? "  Joe  leaned  toward  her. 
"  Say,  you  must  of  heard  how  Bud's  going  to  the 
dogs.  If  you  haven't,  I  don't  want  — " 

"  !N"o,  I  hadn't  heard,"  said  Marie,  looking  up  at 
the  Big  Dipper  so  that  her  profile,  dainty  and  girlish 
still,  was  revealed  like  a  cameo  to  Joe.  "  Is  he  ?  I 
love  to  watch  the  stars,  don't  you  ? " 

"  I  love  to  watch  a  star,"  Joe  breathed  softly. 
"  So  you  hadn't  heard  how  Bud's  turned  out  to  be  a 
regular  souse  ?  Honest,  didn't  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  !Nb,  I  didn't  know  it,"  said  Marie  boredly. 
"Has  he?" 

"Well,  say!  You  couldn't  tell  it  from  the  real 
thing!  Believe  me,  Bud's  some  pickled  bum,  these 
I  run  across  him  up  in  the  mountains,  a 
160 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

month  or  so  ago.  Honest,  I  was  knocked  plumb 
silly  —  much  as  I  knew  about  Bud  that  you  never 
knew,  I  never  thought  he'd  turn  out  quite  so  — " 
Joe  paused,  with  a  perfect  imitation  of  distaste  for 
his  subject.  "  Say,  this  is  great,  out  here,"  he  mur 
mured,  tucking  the  robe  around  her  with  that  tender 
protectiveness  which  stops  just  short  of  being  pro- 
prietory.  "  Honest,  Marie,  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  sure,  I  like  it,  Joe."  Marie  smiled  at 
him  in  the  star-light.  "  It's  great,  don't  you  think  ? 
I  don't  get  out  very  often,  any  more.  I'm  working, 
you  know  —  and  evenings  and  Sundays  baby  takes 
up  all  my  time." 

"  You  working  ?  Say,  that's  a  darned  shame ! 
Don't  Bud  send  you  any  money  ?  " 

"  He  left  some,"  said  Marie  frankly.  "  But  I'm 
keeping  that  for  baby,  when  he  grows  up  and  needs 
it.  He  don't  send  any." 

"  Well,  say !  As  long  as  he's  in  the  State,  you  can 
make  him  dig  up.  For  the  kid's  support,  anyway. 
Why  don't  you  get  after  him  ?  " 

Marie  looked  down  over  the  golf  links,  as  the  car 
swung  around  the  long  curve  at  the  head  of  the  slope. 

161 


CABIN  FEVER 

"I  don't  know  where  he  is,"  she  said  tonelessly. 
"  Where  did  you  see  him,  Joe  ?  " 

Joe's  hesitation  lasted  but  long  enough  for  him  to 
give  his  mustache  end  a  twist.  Marie  certainly 
seemed  to  be  well  "  over  it."  There  could  be  no 
harm  in  telling. 

"  Well,  when  I  saw  him  he  was  at  Alpine ;  that's 
a  little  burg  up  in  the  edge  of  the  mountains,  on  the 
W.  P.  He  didn't  look  none  too  prosperous,  at  that. 
But  he  had  money  —  he  was  playing  poker  and  that 
kind  of  thing.  And  he  was  drunk  as  a  boiled  owl, 
and  getting  drunker  just  as  fast  as  he  knew  how. 
Seemed  to  be  kind  of  a  stranger  there;  at  least  he 
didn't  throw  in  with  the  bunch  like  a  native  would. 
But  that  was  more  than  a  month  ago,  Marie,  He 
might  not  be  there  now.  I  coma  write  up  and  find 
out  for  you." 

Marie  settled  back  against  the  cushions  as  though 
she  had  already  dismissed  the  subject  from  her  mind. 

"  Oh,  don't  bother  about  it,  Joe.  I  don't  sup 
pose  he's  got  any  money,  anyway.  Let's  forget 
him." 

"  You  said  it,  Marie.  Stacked  up  to  me  like  a 
162 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

guy  that's  got  just  enough  dough  for  a  good  big  souse. 
He  ain't  hard  to  forget  —  is  he,  girlie  ?  " 

Marie  laughed  assentingly.  And  if  she  did  not 
quite  attain  her  old  bubbling  spirits  during  the  eve 
ning,  at  least  she  sent  Joe  back  to  San  Francisco  feel 
ing  very  well  satisfied  with  himself.  He  must  have 
been  satisfied  with  himself.  He  must  have  been  sat 
isfied  with  his  wooing  also,  because  he  strolled  into  a 
jewelry  store  the  next  morning  and  priced  several 
rings  which  he  judged  would  be  perfectly  suitable  for 
engagement  rings.  He  might  have  gone  so  far  as  to 
buy  one,  if  he  had  been  sure  of  the  size  and  of 
Marie's  preference  in  stones.  Since  he  lacked  de 
tailed  information,  he  decided  to  wait,  but  he  inti 
mated  plainly  to  the  clerk  that  he  would  return  in  a 
few  days. 

It  was  just  as  well  that  he  did  decide  to  wait,  for 
when  he  tried  again  to  see  Marie  he  failed  alto 
gether.  Marie  had  left  town.  Her  mother,  with  an 
acrid  tone  of  resentment,  declared  that  she  did  not 
know  any  more  than  the  man  in  the  moon  where 
Marie  had  gone,  but  that  she  "  suspicioned "  that 
some  fool  had  told  Marie  where  Bud  was,  and  that 

163 


CABIN  FEVER 

Marie  had  gone  traipsing  after  him.  She  had  taken 
the  baby  along,  which  was  another  piece  of  foolish 
ness  which  her  mother  would  never  have  permitted 
had  she  been  at  home  when  Marie  left. 

Joe  did  not  take  the  matter  seriously,  though  he 
was  disappointed  at  having  made  a  fruitless  trip  to 
San  Jose.  He  did  not  believe  that  Marie  had  done 
anything  more  than  take  a  vacation  from  her  moth 
er's  sharp-tongued  rule,  and  for  that  he  could  not 
blame  her,  after  having  listened  for  fifteen  minutes 
to  the  lady's  monologue  upon  the  subject  of  selfish, 
inconsiderate,  ungrateful  daughters.  Remembering 
Marie's  attitude  toward  Bud,  he  did  not  believe  that 
she  had  gone  hunting  him. 

Yet  Marie  had  done  that  very  thing.  True,  she 
had  spent  a  sleepless  night  fighting  the  impulse,  and 
a  harassed  day  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  whether 
to  write  first,  or  whether  to  go  and  trust  to  the  ele 
ment  of  surprise  to  help  plead  her  cause  with  Bud; 
whether  to  take  Lovin  Child  with  her,  or  leave  him 
with  her  mother. 

She  definitely  decided  to  write  Bud  a  short  note 
and  ask  him  if  he  remembered  having  had  a  wife  and 

164 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

baby,  once  upon  a  time,  and  if  he  never  wished  that 
he  had  them  still.  She  wrote  the  letter,  crying  a 
little  over  it  along  toward  the  last,  as  women  will. 
But  it  sounded  cold-blooded  and  condemnatory. 
She  wrote  another,  letting  a  little  of  her  real  self  into 
the  lines.  But  that  sounded  sentimental  and  mov- 
ing-pictury,  and  she  knew  how  Bud  hated  cheap  sen- 
timentalism. 

So  she  tore  them  both  up  and  put  them  in  the  little 
heating  stove,  and  lighted  a  match  and  set  them 
burning,  and  watched  them  until  they  withered 
down  to  gray  ash,  and  then  broke  up  the  ashes  and 
scattered  them  amongst  the  cinders.  Marie,  you 
must  know,  had  learned  a  good  many  things,  one  of 
which  was  the  unwisdom  of  whetting  the  curiosity  of 
a  curious  woman. 

After  that  she  proceeded  to  pack  a  suit  case  for 
herself  and  Lovin  Child,  seizing  the  opportunity 
while  her  mother  was  visiting  a  friend  in  Santa 
Clara.  Once  the  packing  was  begun,  Marie  worked 
with  a  feverish  intensity  of  purpose  and  an  eager 
ness  that  was  amazing,  considering  her  usual  apathy 
toward  everything  in  her  life  as  she  was  living  it. 

165 


CABIN  FEVER 

Everything  but  Lovin  Child.  Him  she  loved  and 
gloried  in.  He  was  like  Bud  —  so  much  like  him 
that  Marie  could  not  have  loved  him  so  much  if  she 
had  managed  to  hate  Bud  as  she  tried  sometimes  to 
hate  him.  Lovin  Child  was  a  husky  youngster,  and 
he  already  had  the  promise  of  being  as  tall  and 
straight-limbed  and  square-shouldered  as  his  father. 
Deep  in  his  eyes  there  lurked  always  a  twinkle,  as 
though  he  knew  a  joke  that  would  make  you  laugh  — 
if  only  he  dared  tell  it ;  a  quizzical,  secretly  amused 
little  twinkle,  as  exactly  like  Bud's  as  it  was  possible 
for  a  two-year-old  twinkle  to  be.  To  go  with  the 
twinkle,  he  had  a  quirky  little  smile.  And  to  better 
the  smile,  he  had  the  j  oiliest  little  chuckle  that  ever 
came  through  a  pair  of  baby  lips. 

He  came  trotting  up  to  the  suit  case  which  Marie 
had  spread  wide  open  on  the  bed,  stood  up  on  his  tippy 
toes,  and  peered  in.  The  quirky  smile  was  twitch 
ing  his  lips,  and  the  look  he  turned  toward  Marie's 
back  was  full  of  twinkle.  He  reached  into  the  suit 
case,  clutched  a  clean  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose 
with  solemn  precision ;  put  the  handkerchief  back  all 
crumpled,  grabbed  a  silk  stocking  and  drew  it  around 

166 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

his  neck,  and  was  straining  to  reach  his  little  red 
Brownie  cap  when  Marie  turned  and  caught  him  up 
in  her  arms. 

"No,  no,  Lovin  Child!  Baby  mustn't.  Marie  is 
going  to  take  her  lovin'  baby  boy  to  find — "  She 
glanced  hastily  over  her  shoulder  to  make  sure  there 
was  no  one  to  hear,  buried  her  face  in  the  baby's  fat 
neck  and  whispered  the  wonder.  " —  to  find  hims 
daddy  Bud!  Does  Lovin  Man  want  to  see  hims 
daddy  Bud  ?  I  bet  he  does  want !  I  bet  hims  daddy 
Bud  will  be  glad  —  Now  you  sit  right  still,  and 
Marie  will  get  him  a  cracker,  an'  then  he  can  watch 
Marie  pack  him  little  shirt,  and  hims  little  bunny 
suit,  and  hims  wooh-wooh,  and  hims  'tockins  — " 

It  is  a  pity  that  Bud  could  not  have  seen  the  two 
of  them  in  the  next  hour,  wherein  Marie  flew  to  her 
hopeful  task  of  packing  her  suit  case,  and  Lovin 
Child  was  quite  as  busy  pulling  things  out  of  it,  and 
getting  stepped  on,  and  having  to  be  comforted,  and 
insisting  upon  having  on  his  bunny  suit,  and  then 
howling  to  go  before  Marie  was  ready.  Bud  would 
have  learned  enough  to  ease  the  ache  in  his  heart  — 
enough  to  humble  him  and  fill  him  with  an  abiding 

167 


CABIN  FEVER 

reverence  for  a  love  that  will  live,  as  Marie's  had 
lived,  on  bitterness  and  regret. 

Nearly  distracted  under  the  lash  of  her  own  eager 
ness  and  the  fear  that  her  mother  would  return  too 
soon  and  bully  her  into  giving  up  her  wild  plan, 
Marie,  carrying  Lovin  Child  on  one  arm  and  lugging 
the  suit  case  in  the  other  hand,  and  half  running, 
managed  to  catch  a  street  car  and  climb  aboard  all 
out  of  breath  and  with  her  hat  tilted  over  one  ear. 
She  deposited  the  baby  on  the  seat  beside  her,  fum 
bled  for  a  nickel,  and  asked  the  conductor  pantingly 
if  she  would  be  in  time  to  catch  the  four-five  to  the 
city.  It  maddened  her  to  watch  the  bored  delibera 
tion  of  the  man  as  he  pulled  out  his  watch  and  re 
garded  it  meditatively. 

"You'll  catch  it  —  if  you're  lucky  about  your 
transfer,"  he  said,  and  rang  up  her  fare  and  went  off 
to  the  rear  platform,  just  as  if  it  were  not  a  matter  of 
life  and  death  at  all.  Marie  could  have  shaken  him 
for  his  indifference;  and  as  for  the  motorman,  she 
was  convinced  that  he  ran  as  slow  as  he  dared,  just 
to  drive  her  crazy.  But  even  with  these  two  inhu 
man  monsters  doing  their  best  to  make  her  miss  the 

168 


A  DESPERATE  CHANCE 

train,  and  with  the  street  car  she  wanted  to  transfer 
to  running  off  and  leaving  her  at  the  very  last  min 
ute,  and  with  Lovin  Child  suddenly  discovering  that 
he  wanted  to  he  carried,  and  that  he  emphatically  did 
not  want  her  to  carry  the  suit  case  at  all,  Marie  ac 
tually  reached  the  depot  ahead  of  the  four-five  train. 
Much  disheveled  and  flushed  with  nervousness  and 
her  exertions,  she  dragged  Lovin  Child  up  the  steps 
by  one  arm,  found  a  seat  in  the  chair  car  and,  a  few 
minutes  later,  suddenly  realized  that  she  was  really 
on  her  way  to  an  unknown  little  town  in  an  unknown 
part  of  the  country,  in  quest  of  a  man  who  very 
likely  did  not  want  to  he  found  by  her. 

Two  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  were  traced 
to  the  corners  of  her  mouth  by  the  fat,  investigative 
finger  of  Lovin  Child  before  Marie  could  find  her 
handkerchief  and  wipe  them  away.  Was  any  one 
in  this  world  ever  so  utterly,  absolutely  miserable? 
She  doubted  it.  What  if  she  found  Bud  —  drunk, 
as  Joe  had  described  him?  Or,  worse  than  that, 
what  if  she  did  not  find  him  at  all?  She  tried  not 
to  cry,  but  it  seemed  as  though  she  must  cry  or 
scream.  Fast  as  she  wiped  them  away,  other  tears 

169 


CABIN  FEVER 

dropped  over  her  eyelids  upon  her  cheeks,  and  were 
given  the  absorbed  attention  of  Lovin  Child,  who 
tried  to  catch  each  one  with  his  finger.  To  distract 
him,  she  turned  him  around  face  to  the  window. 

"  See  all  the  —  pitty  cows,"  she  urged,  her  lips 
trembling  so  much  that  they  would  scarcely  form 
the  words.  And  when  Lovin  Child  flattened  a  finger 
tip  against  the  window  and  chuckled,  and  said  "  Ee  ? 
Ee  ?  " —  which  was  his  way  of  saying  see  —  Marie 
dropped  her  face  down  upon  his  fuzzy  red  "  bunny  " 
cap,  hugged  him  close  to  her,  and  cried,  from  sheer, 
nervous  reaction. 


170 


CHAPTEE  THIRTEEN 

CABIN    FEVER    IN    ITS    WORST   FORM 

BUD  MOORE  woke  on  a  certain  morning  with 
a  distinct  and  well-defined  grouch  against  the 
world  as  he  had  found  it;  a  grouch  quite  different 
from  the  sullen  imp  of  contrariness  that  had  pos 
sessed  him  lately.  He  did  not  know  just  what  had 
caused  the  grouch,  and  he  did  not  care.  He  did 
know,  however,  that  he  objected  to  the  look  of  Cash's 
overshoes  that  stood  pigeon-toed  beside  Cash's  bed  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  room,  where  Bud  had  not 
set  his  foot  for  three  weeks  and  more.  He  disliked 
the  audible  yawn  with  which  Cash  manifested  his 
return  from  the  deathlike  unconsciousness  of  sleep. 
He  disliked  the  look  of  Cash's  rough  coat  and 
sweater  and  cap,  that  hung  on  a  nail  over  Cash's 
bunk.  He  disliked  the  thought  of  getting  up  in  the 
cold  —  and  more,  the  sure  knowledge  that  unless  he 
did  get  up,  and  that  speedily,  Cash  would  be  dressed 
ahead  of  him,  and  starting  a  fire  in  the  cookstove. 

171 


CABIN  FEVER 

"Which  meant  that  Cash  would  be  the  first  to  cook 
and  eat  his  breakfast,  and  that  the  warped  ethics  of 
their  dumb  quarrel  would  demand  that  Bud  pretend 
to  be  asleep  until  Cash  had  fried  his  bacon  and  his 
hotcakes  and  had  carried  them  to  his  end  of  the  oil 
cloth-covered  table. 

When,  by  certain  well-known  sounds,  Bud  was 
sure  that  Cash  was  eating,  he  could,  without  loss  of 
dignity  or  without  suspicion  of  making  any  over 
tures  toward  friendliness,  get  up  and  dress  and  cook 
his  own  breakfast,  and  eat  it  at  his  own  end  of  the 
table.  Bud  wondered  how  long  Cash,  the  old  fool, 
would  sulk  like  that.  Not  that  he  gave  a  darn  — 
he  just  wondered,  is  all.  For  all  he  cared,  Cash 
could  go  on  forever  cooking  his  own  meals  and  liv 
ing  on  his  own  side  of  the  shack.  Bud  certainly 
would  not  interrupt  him  in  acting  the  fool,  and  if 
Cash  wanted  to  keep  it  up  till  spring,  Cash  was  per 
fectly  welcome  to  do  so.  It  just  showed  how  ornery 
a  man  could  be  when  he  was  let  to  go.  So  far  as 
he  was  concerned,  he  would  just  as  soon  as  not  have 
that  deadline  painted  down  the  middle  of  the  cabin 
floor. 

172 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

Nor  did  its  presence  there  trouble  him  in  the  least. 
Just  this  morning,  however,  the  fact  of  Cash's 
stubbornness  in  keeping  to  his  own  side  of  the  line 
irritated  Bud.  He  wanted  to  get  back  at  the  old 
hound  somehow  —  without  giving  in  an  inch  in  the 
mute  deadlock.  Furthermore,  he  was  hungry,  and 
he  did  not  propose  to  lie  there  and  starve  while  old 
Cash  pottered  around  the  stove.  He'd  tell  the  world 
he  was  going  to  have  his  own  breakfast  first,  and 
if  Cash  didn't  want  to  set  in  on  the  cooking,  Cash 
could  lie  in  bed  till  he  was  paralyzed,  and  be 
darned. 

At  that  moment  Cash  pushed  back  the  blankets 
that  had  been  banked  to  his  ears.  Simultaneously, 
Bud  swung  his  feet  to  the  cold  floor  with  a  thump 
designed  solely  to  inform  Cash  that  Bud  was  getting 
up.  Cash  turned  over  with  his  back  to  the  room 
and  pulled  up  the  blankets.  Bud  grinned  mali 
ciously  and  dressed  as  deliberately  as  the  cold  of  the 
cabin  would  let  him.  To  be  sure,  there  was  the  dis 
advantage  of  having  to  start  his  own  fire,  but  that 
disagreeable  task  was  offset  by  the  pleasure  he  would 
get  in  messing  around  as  long  as  he  could,  cooking 

173 


CABIN  FEVER 

his  breakfast.  He  even  thought  of  frying  potatoes 
and  onions  after  he  cooked  his  bacon.  Potatoes  and 
onions  fried  together  have  a  lovely  tendency  to  stick 
to  the  frying  pan,  especially  if  there  is  not  too  much 
grease,  and  if  they  are  fried  very  slowly.  Cash 
would  have  to  do  some  washing  and  scraping,  when 
it  came  his  turn  to  cook.  Bud  knew  just  about  how 
mad  that  would  make  Cash,  and  he  dwelt  upon  the 
prospect  relishfully. 

Bud  never  wanted  potatoes  for  his  breakfast. 
Coffee,  bacon,  and  hotcakes  suited  him  perfectly. 
But  just  for  meanness,  because  he  felt  mean  and  he 
wanted  to  act  mean,  he  sliced  the  potatoes  and  the 
onions  into  the  frying  pan,  and,  to  make  his  work 
artistically  complete,  he  let  them  burn  and  stick  to 
the  pan, —  after  he  had  his  bacon  and  hotcakes  fried, 
of  course ! 

He  sat  down  and  began  to  eat.  And  presently 
Cash  crawled  out  into  the  warm  room  filled  with  the 
odor  of  frying  onions,  and  dressed  himself  with  the 
detached  calm  of  the  chronically  sulky  individual. 
Not  once  did  the  manner  of  either  man  betray  any 
consciousness  of  the  other's  presence.  Unless  some 

174 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

detail  of  the  day's  work  compelled  them  to  speech, 
not  once  for  more  than  three  weeks  had  either  seemed 
conscious  of  the  other. 

Cash  washed  his  face  and  his  hands,  took  the  side 
of  bacon,  and  cut  three  slices  with  the  precision  of 
long  practice.  Bud  sopped  his  last  hotcake  in  a  pool 
of  sirup  and  watched  him  from  the  corner  of  his 
eyes,  without  turning  his  head  an  inch  toward  Cash. 
His  keenest  desire,  just  then,  was  to  see  Cash  when 
he  tackled  the  frying  pan. 

But  Cash  disappointed  him  there.  He  took  a 
pie  tin  off  the  shelf  and  laid  his  strips  of  bacon  on  it, 
and  set  it  in  the  oven;  which  is  a  very  good  way  of 
cooking  breakfast  bacon,  as  Bud  well  knew.  Cash 
then  took  down  the  little  square  baking  pan,  greased 
from  the  last  baking  of  bread,  and  in  that  he  fried 
his  hot  cakes.  As  if  that  were  not  sufficiently  ex 
asperating,  he  gave  absolutely  no  sign  of  being  con 
scious  of  the  frying  pan  any  more  than  he  was  con 
scious  of  Bud.  He  did  not  overdo  it  by  whistling, 
or  even  humming  a  tune  —  which  would  have  given 
Bud  an  excuse  to  say  something  almost  as  mean  as 
his  mood.  Abstractedness  rode  upon  Cash's  lined 

175 


CABIN  FEVER 

brow.  Placid  meditation  shone  forth  from  his  keen 
old  blue-gray  eyes. 

The  bacon  came  from  the  oven  juicy-crisp  and 
curled  at  the  edges  and  delicately  browned.  The 
cakes  came  out  of  the  baking  pan  brown  and  thick 
and  light.  Cash  sat  down  at  his  end  of  the  table, 
pulled  his  own  can  of  sugar  and  his  own  cup  of 
sirup  and  his  own  square  of  butter  toward  him; 
poured  his  coffee,  that  he  had  made  in  a  small  lard 
pail,  and  began  to  eat  his  breakfast  exactly  as  though 
he  was  alone  in  that  cabin. 

A  great  resentment  filled  Bud's  soul  to  bursting. 
The  old  hound!  Bud  believed  now  that  Cash  was 
capable  of  leaving  that  frying  pan  dirty  for  the  rest 
of  the  day!  A  man  like  that  would  do  anything! 
If  it  wasn't  for  that  claim,  he'd  walk  off  and  forget 
to  come  back. 

Thinking  of  that  seemed  to  crystallize  into  definite 
purpose  what  had  been  muddling  his  mind  with 
vague  impulses  to  let  his  mood  find  expression.  He 
would  go  to  Alpine  that  day.  He  would  hunt  up 
Frank  and  see  if  he  couldn't  jar  him  into  showing 
that  he  had  a  mind  of  his  own.  Twice  since  that 

176 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

first  unexpected  spree,  lie  had  spent  a  good  deal  of 
time  and  gold  dust  and  consumed  a  good  deal  of  bad 
whisky  and  beer,  in  testing  the  inherent  obliging 
ness  of  Frank.  The  last  attempt  had  been  the  cause 
of  the  final  break  between  him  and  Cash.  Cash  had 
reminded  Bud  harshly  that  they  would  need  that 
gold  to  develop  their  quartz  claim,  and  he  had  fur 
ther  stated  that  he  wanted  no  "  truck  "  with  a  gam 
bler  and  a  drunkard,  and  that  Bud  had  better 
straighten  up  if  he  wanted  to  keep  friends  with  Cash. 
Bud  had  retorted  that  Cash  might  as  well  remem 
ber  that  Bud  had  a  half  interest  in  the  two  claims, 
and  that  he  would  certainly  stay  with  it.  Mean 
time,  he  would  tell  the  world  he  was  his  own  boss, 
and  Cash  needn't  think  for  a  minute  that  Bud  was 
going  to  ask  permission  for  what  he  did  or  did  not 
do.  Cash  needn't  have  any  truck  with  him,  either. 
It  suited  Bud  very  well  to  keep  on  his  own  side  of 
the  cabin,  and  he'd  thank  Cash  to  mind  his  own 
business  and  not  step  over  the  dead  line. 

Cash  had  laughed  disagreeably  and  asked  Bud 
what  he  was  going  to  do  —  draw  a  chalk  mark, 
maybe  ? 

177 


CABIN  FEVER 

Bud,  half  drunk  and  unable  to  use  ordinary  good 
sense,  had  said  yes,  by  thunder,  he'd  draw  a  chalk 
line  if  he  wanted  to,  and  if  he  did,  Cash  had  better 
not  step  over  it  either,  unless  he  wanted  to  be  kicked 
back. 

Wherefore  the  broad,  black  line  down  the  middle 
of  the  floor  to  where  the  table  stood.  Obviously,  he 
could  not  well  divide  the  stove  and  the  teakettle  and 
the  frying  pan  and  coffeepot.  The  line  stopped 
abruptly  with  a  big  blob  of  lampblack  mixed  with 
coal  oil,  just  where  necessity  compelled  them  both 
to  use  the  same  floor  space. 

The  next  day  Bud  had  been  ashamed  of  the  per 
formance,  but  his  shame  could  not  override  his  stub 
bornness.  The  black  line  stared  up  at  him  accus 
ingly.  Cash,  keeping  scrupulously  upon  his  own 
side  of  it,  went  coldly  about  his  own  affairs  and  never 
yielded  so  much  as  a  glance  at  Bud.  And  Bud  grew 
more  moody  and  dissatisfied  with  himself,  but  he 
would  not  yield,  either.  Perversely  he  waited  for 
Cash  to  apologize  for  what  he  had  said  about  gam 
blers  and  drunkards,  and  tried  to  believe  that  upon 
Cash  rested  all  of  the  blame. 

178 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

Now  he  washed  his  own  breakfast  dishes,  includ 
ing  the  frying  pan,  spread  the  blankets  smooth  on 
his  bunk,  swept  as  much  of  the  floor  as  lay  upon  his 
side  of  the  dead  line.  Because  the  wind  was  in  the 
storm  quarter  and  the  lowering  clouds  promised 
more  snow,  he  carried  in  three  big  armfuls  of  wood 
and  placed  them  upon  his  corner  of  the  fireplace,  to 
provide  warmth  when  he  returned.  Cash  would 
not  touch  that  wood  while  Bud  was  gone,  and  Bud 
knew  it.  Cash  would  freeze  first.  But  there  was 
small  chance  of  that,  because  a  small,  silent  rivalry 
had  grown  from  the  quarrel ;  a  rivalry  to  see  which 
kept  the  best  supply  of  wood,  which  swept  cleanest 
under  his  bunk  and  up  to  the  black  line,  which 
washed  his  dishes  cleanest,  and  kept  his  shelf  in  the 
cupboard  the  tidiest.  Before  the  fireplace  in  an 
evening  Cash  would  put  on  wood,  and  when  next  it 
was  needed,  Bud  would  get  up  and  put  on  wood. 
Neither  would  stoop  to  stinting  or  to  shirking,  neither 
would  give  the  other  an  inch  of  ground  for  com 
plaint.  It  was  not  enlivening  to  live  together  that 
way,  but  it  worked  well  toward  keeping  the  cabin 
ship  shape. 

179 


CABIN  FEVER 

So  Bud,  knowing  that  it  was  going  to  storm,  and 
perhaps  dreading  a  little  the  long  monotony  of  being 
housed  with  a  man  as  stubborn  as  himself,  buttoned 
a  coat  over  his  gray,  roughneck  sweater,  pulled  a  pair 
of  mail-order  mittens  over  his  mail-order  gloves, 
stamped  his  feet  into  heavy,  three-buckled  overshoes, 
and  set  out  to  tramp  fifteen  miles  through  the  snow, 
seeking  the  kind  of  pleasure  which  turns  to  pain 
with  the  finding. 

He  knew  that  Cash,  out  by  the  woodpile,  let  the 
axe  blade  linger  in  the  cut  while  he  stared  after  him. 
He  knew  that  Cash  would  be  lonesome  without  him, 
whether  Cash  ever  admitted  it  or  not.  He  knew 
that  Cash  would  be  passively  anxious  until  he  re 
turned  —  for  the  months  they  had  spent  together  had 
linked  them  closer  than  either  would  confess.  Like 
a  married  couple  who  bicker  and  nag  continually 
when  together,  but  are  miserable  when  apart,  close 
association  had  become  a  deeply  grooved  habit  not 
easily  thrust  aside.  Cabin  fever  might  grip  them 
and  impel  them  to  absurdities  such  as  the  dead  line 
down  the  middle  of  their  floor  and  the  silence  that 
neither  desired  but  both  were  too  stubborn  to  break; 

180 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

but  it  could  not  break  the  habit  of  being  together. 
So  Bud  was  perfectly  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  would 
be  missed,  and  he  was  ill-humored  enough  to  be 
glad  of  it.  Frank,  if  he  met  Bud  that  day,  was 
likely  to  have  his  amiability  tested  to  its  limit. 

Bud  tramped  along  through  the  snow,  wishing  it 
was  not  so  deep,  or  else  deep  enough  to  make  snow- 
shoeing  practicable  in  the  timber;  thinking  too  of 
Cash  and  how  he  hoped  Cash  would  get  his  fill  of 
silence,  and  of  Frank,  and  wondering  where  he 
would  find  him.  He  had  covered  perhaps  two  miles 
of  the  fifteen,  and  had  walked  off  a  little  of  his 
grouch,  and  had  stopped  to  unbutton  his  coat,  when 
he  heard  the  crunching  of  feet  in  the  snow,  just  be 
yond  a  thick  clump  of  young  spruce. 

Bud  was  not  particularly  cautious,  nor  was  he 
averse  to  meeting  people  in  the  trail.  He  stood  still 
though,  and  waited  to  see  who  was  coming  that  way 
—  since  travelers  on  that  trail  were  few  enough  to 
be  noticeable. 

In  a  minute  more  a  fat  old  squaw  rounded  the 
spruce  grove  and  shied  off  startled  when  she  glimpsed 
Bud.  Bud  grunted  and  started  on,  and  the  squaw 

181 


CABIN  FEVER 

stepped  clear  of  the  faintly  defined  trail  to  let  him 
pass.  Moreover,  she  swung  her  shapeless  body 
around  so  that  she  half  faced  him  as  he  passed. 
Bud's  lips  tightened,  and  he  gave  her  only  a  glance. 
He  hated  fat  old  squaws  that  were  dirty  and  wore 
their  hair  straggling  down  over  their  crafty,  black 
eyes.  They  burlesqued  womanhood  in  a  way  that 
stirred  always  a  smoldering  resentment  against  them. 
This  particular  squaw  had  nothing  to  commend  her 
to  his  notice.  She  had  a  dirty  red  bandanna  tied 
over  her  dirty,  matted  hair  and  under  her  grimy 
double  chin.  A  grimy  gray  blanket  was  draped 
closely  over  her  squat  shoulders  and  formed  a  pouch 
behind,  wherein  the  plump  form  of  a  papoose  was 
cradled,  a  little  red  cap  pulled  down  over  its  ears. 

Bud  strode  on,  his  nose  lifted  at  the  odor  of  stale 
smoke  that  pervaded  the  air  as  he  passed.  The 
squaw,  giving  him  a  furtive  stare,  turned  and  started 
on,  bent  under  her  burden. 

Then  quite  suddenly  a  wholly  unexpected  sound 
pursued  Bud  and  halted  him  in  the  trail;  the  high, 
insistent  howl  of  a  child  that  has  been  denied  its 
dearest  desire  of  the  moment.  Bud  looked  back  in- 

182 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

quiringly.  The  squaw  was  hurrying  on,  and  but  for 
the  straightness  of  the  trail  just  there,  her  fat  old 
canvas-wrapped  legs  would  have  carried  her  speedily 
out  of  sight.  Of  course,  papooses  did  yell  once  in 
awhile,  Bud  supposed,  though  he  did  not  remember 
ever  hearing  one  howl  like  that  on  the  trail.  But 
what  made  the  squaw  in  such  a  deuce  of  a  hurry  all 
at  once  ? 

Bud's  theory  of  her  kind  was  simple  enough :  If 
they  fled  from  you,  it  was  because  they  had  stolen 
something  and  were  afraid  you  would  catch  them  at 
it.  He  swung  around  forthwith  in  the  trail  and 
went  after  her  —  whereat  she  waddled  faster  through 
the  snow  like  a  frightened  duck. 

"  Hey !  You  come  back  here  a  minute !  What's 
all  the  rush  ?  "  Bud's  voice  and  his  long  legs  pur 
sued,  and  presently  he  overtook  her  and  halted  her 
by  the  simple  expedient  of  grasping  her  shoulder 
firmly.  The  high-keyed  howling  ceased  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  begun,  and  Bud,  peering  under  the  rolled 
edge  of  the  red  stocking  cap,  felt  his  jaw  go  slack  with 
surprise. 

The  baby  was  smiling  at  him  delightedly,  with  a 
183 


CABIN  FEVER 

quirk  of  the  lips  and  a  twinkle  lodged  deep  some 
where  in  its  eyes.  It  worked  one  hand  free  of  its 
odorous  wrappings,  spread  four  fat  fingers  wide  apart 
over  one  eve,  and  chirped,  "  Pik-k  ? "  and  chuckled 
infectiously  deep  in  its  throat. 

Bud  gulped  and  stared  and  felt  a  warm  rush  of 
blood  from  his  heart  up  into  his  head.  A  white  baby, 
with  eyes  that  laughed,  and  quirky  red  lips  that 
laughed  with  the  eyes,  and  a  chuckling  voice  like 
that,  riding  on  the  back  of  that  old  squaw,  struck 
him  dumb  with  astonishment. 

"  Good  glory !  "  he  blurted,  as  though  the  words 
had  been  jolted  from  him  by  the  shock.  Where 
upon  the  baby  reached  out  its  hand  to  him  and  said 
haltingly,  as  though  its  lips  had  not  yet  grown  really 
familiar  with  the  words : 

"Take  —  Uvin  —  Chal!" 

The  squaw  tried  to  jerk  away,  and  Bud  gave  her  a 
jerk  to  let  her  know  who  was  boss.  "  Say,  where'd 
you  git  that  kid  ?  "  he  demanded  aggressively. 

She  moved  her  wrapped  feet  uneasily  in  the  snow, 
flickered  a  filmy,  black-eyed  glance  at  Bud's  uncom 
promising  face,  and  waved  a  dirty  paw  vaguely  in  a 

184 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

wide  sweep  that  would  have  kept  a  compass  needle 
revolving  if  it  tried  to  follow  and  was  not  calculated 
to  be  particularly  enlightening. 

"  Lo-ong  ways/'  she  crooned,  and  her  voice  was  the 
first  attractive  thing  Bud  had  discovered  about  her. 
It  was  pure  melody,  soft  and  pensive  as  the  cooing 
of  a  wood  dove. 

"  Who  belongs  to  it  ?  "  Bud  was  plainly  suspicious. 

The  shake  of  the  squaw's  bandannaed  head  was 
more  artfully  vague  than  her  gesture.  "  Don'  know 
—  modder  die  —  f  adder  die  —  ketchum  long  ways  — 
off." 

"  Well,  what's  its  name  ?  "  Bud's  voice  harshened 
with  his  growing  interest  and  bewilderment.  The 
baby  was  again  covering  one  twinkling  eye  with  its 
spread,  pink  palm,  and  was  saying  "  Pik-k  ? "  and 
laughing  with  the  funniest  little  squint  to  its  nose 
that  Bud  had  ever  seen.  It  was  so  absolutely  de 
moralizing  that  to  relieve  himself  Bud  gave  the  squaw 
a  shake.  This  tickled  the  baby  so  much  that  the 
chuckle  burst  into  a  rollicking  laugh,  with  a  catch  of 
the  breath  after  each  crescendo  tone  that  made  it  abso 
lutely  individual  and  like  none  other  —  save  one. 

185 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  What's  his  name  ? "  Bud  bullied  the  squaw, 
though  his  eyes  were  on  the  baby. 

"  Don't  know  — 7? 

"  Take  —  Uvin  —  Chal,"  the  baby  demanded  im 
periously.  "  TJh  —  uh  —  uh  ?  Take !  " 

"  Uvin  Chal  ?  Now  what'd  yuh  mean  by  that,  ole- 
timer  ? "  Bud  obeyed  an  overpowering  impulse  to 
reach  out  and  touch  the  baby's  cheek  with  a  mittened 
thumb.  The  baby  responded  instantly  by  again  de 
manding  that  Bud  should  take. 

"  Pik-k  ?  "  said  Bud,  a  mitten  over  one  eye. 

"  Pik-k  ?  "  said  the  baby,  spreading  his  fat  hand 
again  and  twinkling  at  Bud  between  his  fingers.  But 
immediately  afterwards  it  gave  a  little,  piteous  whim 
per.  "  Take  —  Uvin  Chal !  "  it  beseeched  Bud  with 
voice  and  starlike  blue  eyes  together.  ff  Take  I " 

There  was  that  in  the  baby's  tone,  in  the  unbaby- 
like  insistence  of  its  bright  eyes,  which  compelled 
obedience.  Bud  had  never  taken  a  baby  of  that  age 
in  his  arms.  He  was  always  in  fear  of  dropping  it, 
or  crushing  it  with  his  man's  strength,  or  something. 
He  liked  them  —  at  a  safe  distance.  He  would 
chuck  one  under  the  chin,  or  feel  diffidently  the  soft 

186 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

little  cheek,  but  a  closer  familiarity  scared  him.  Yet 
when  this  baby  wriggled  its  other  arm  loose  and  de 
manded  him  to  take,  Bud  reached  out  and  grasped 
its  plump  little  red-sweater ed  body  firmly  under  the 
armpits  and  drew  it  forth,  squirming  with  eager 
ness. 

"  Well,  Til  tell  the  world  I  don't  blame  yuh  for 
wanting  to  git  outa  that  hog's  nest/'  said  Bud,  an 
swering  the  baby's  gleeful  chuckle. 

Freed  from  his  detaining  grip  on  her  shoulder,  the 
squaw  ducked  unexpectedly  and  scuttled  away  down 
the  trail  as  fast  as  her  old  legs  would  carry  her; 
which  was  surprisingly  speedy  for  one  of  her  bulk. 
Bud  had  opened  his  mouth  to  ask  her  again  where 
she  had  gotten  that  baby.  He  left  it  open  while  he 
stared  after  her  astonished  until  the  baby  put  up  a 
hand  over  one  of  Bud's  eyes  and  said  "  Pik-k  ?  "  with 
that  distracting  little  quirk  at  the  corners  of  its 
lips. 

"  You  son  of  a  gun !  "  grinned  Bud,  in  the  tone 
that  turned  the  epithet  into  a  caress.  "  You  doggone 
little  devil,  you!  PiJc-Jc!  then,  if  that's  what  you 


want." 


187 


CABIN  FEVER 

The  squaw  had  disappeared  into  the  thick  under 
growth,  leaving  a  track  like  a  hippo  in  the  snow. 
Bud  could  have  overtaken  her,  of  course,  and  he  could 
have  made  her  take  the  baby  back  again.  But  he 
could  not  face  the  thought  of  it.  He  made  no  move 
at  all  toward  pursuit,  but  instead  he  turned  his  face 
toward  Alpine,  with  some  vague  intention  of  turning 
the  baby  over  to  the  hotel  woman  there  and  getting 
the  authorities  to  hunt  up  its  parents.  It  was  plain 
enough  that  the  squaw  had  no  right  to  it,  else  she 
would  not  have  run  off  like  that. 

Bud  walked  at  least  a  rod  toward  Alpine  before  he 
swung  short  around  in  his  tracks  and  started  the 
other  way.  "  ~No,  I'll  be  doggoned  if  I  will !  "  he 
said.  "  You  can't  tell  about  women,  no  time.  She 
might  spank  the  kid,  or  something.  Or  maybe  she 
wouldn't  feed  it  enough.  Anyway,  it's  too  cold,  and 
it's  going  to  storm  pretty  pronto.  Hey !  Yuh  cold, 
old-timer  ? " 

The  baby  whimpered  a  little  and  snuggled  its  face 
down  against  Bud's  chest.  So  Bud  lifted  his  foot 
and  scraped  some  snow  off  a  near-by  log,  and  set  the 
baby  down  there  while  he  took  off  his  coat  and 

188 


ITS  WORST  FORM 

wrapped  it  around  him,  buttoning  it  like  a  bag  over 
arms  and  all.  The  baby  watched  him  knowingly,  its 
eyes  round  and  dark  blue  and  shining,  and  gave  a 
contented  little  wriggle  when  Bud  picked  it  up  again 
in  his  arms. 

"  Now  you're  all  right  till  we  get  to  where  it's 
warm,"  Bud  assured  it  gravely.  "  And  we'll  do 
some  steppin',  believe  me.  I  guess  maybe  you  ain't 
any  more  crazy  over  that  Injun  smell  on  yuh,  than 
what  I  am  —  and  that  ain't  any  at  all."  He  walked 
a  few  steps  farther  before  he  added  grimly,  "  It'll 
be  some  jolt  for  Cash,  doggone  his  skin.  He'll  about 
bust,  I  reckon.  But  we  don't  give  a  darn.  Let  him 
bust  if  he  wants  to  —  half  the  cabin's  mine,  anyway." 

So,  talking  a  few  of  his  thoughts  aloud  to  the  baby, 
that  presently  went  to  sleep  with  its  face  against  his 
shoulder,  Bud  tramped  steadily  through  the  snow, 
carrying  Lovin  Child  in  his  arms.  ~No  remote  glim 
mer  of  the  wonderful  thing  Fate  had  done  for  him 
seeped  into  his  consciousness,  but  there  was  a  new, 
warm  glow  in  his  heart  —  the  warmth  that  came  from 
a  child's  unquestioning  faith  in  his  protecting  tender 
ness. 

189 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

CASH    GETS    A    SHOCK 

IT  happened  that  Cash  was  just  returning  to  the 
cabin  from  the  Blind  Ledge  claim.  He  met 
Bud  almost  at  the  doorstep,  just  as  Bud  was  fumbling 
with  the  latch,  trying  to  open  the  door  without  moving 
Lovin  Child  in  his  arms.  Cash  may  or  may  not  have 
been  astonished.  Certainly  he  did  not  betray  by 
more  than  one  quick  glance  that  he  was  interested  in 
Bud's  return  or  in  the  mysterious  burden  he  bore. 
He  stepped  ahead  of  Bud  and  opened  the  door  with 
out  a  word,  as  if  he  always  did  it  just  in  that  way, 
and  went  inside. 

Bud  followed  him  in  silence,  stepped  across  the 
black  line  to  his  own  side  of  the  room  and  laid  Lovin 
Child  carefully  down  so  as  not  to  waken  him.  He 
unbuttoned  the  coat  he  had  wrapped  around  him, 
pulled  off  the  concealing  red  cap  and  stared  down  at 
the  pale  gold,  silky  hair  and  the  adorable  curve  of  the 
soft  cheek  and  the  lips  with  the  dimples  tucked  in  at 

190 


CASH  GETS  A  SHOCK 

the  corners ;  the  lashes  lying  like  the  delicate  strokes 
of  an  artist's  pencil  under  the  closed  eyes.  Tor  at 
least  five  minutes  he  stood  without  moving,  his  whole 
face  softened  into  a  hoyish  wistfulness.  By  the 
stove  Cash  stood  and  stared  from  Bud  to  the  sleeping 
baby,  his  bushy  eyebrows  lifted,  his  gray  eyes  a  study 
of  incredulous  bewilderment. 

Then  Bud  drew  a  long  breath  and  seemed  about  to 
move  away  from  the  bunk,  and  Cash  turned  abruptly 
to  the  stove  and  lifted  a  rusty  lid  and  peered  into  the 
cold  firebox,  frowning  as  though  he  was  expecting  to 
see  fire  and  warmth  where  only  a  sprinkle  of  warm 
ashes  remained.  Stubbornness  held  him  mute  and 
outwardly  indifferent.  He  whittled  shavings  and 
started  a  fire  in  the  cook  stove,  filled  the  teakettle  and 
set  it  on  to  boil,  got  out  the  side  of  bacon  and  cut 
three  slices,  and  never  once  looked  toward  the  bunk. 
Bud  might  have  brought  home  a  winged  angel,  or  a 
rainbow,  or  a  casket  of  jewels,  and  Cash  would  not 
have  permitted  himself  to  show  any  human  interest. 

But  when  Bud  went  teetering  from  the  cabin  on 
his  toes  to  bring  in  some  pine  cones  they  had  saved 
for  quick  kindling,  Cash  craned  his  neck  toward  the 

191 


CABIN  FEVER 

little  bundle  on  the  bunk.  He  saw  a  fat,  warm  little 
hand  stir  with  some  baby  dream.  He  listened  and 
heard  soft  breathing  that  stopped  just  short  of  being 
an  infantile  snore.  He  made  an  errand  to  his  own 
bunk  and  from  there  inspected  the  mystery  at  closer 
range.  He  saw  a  nose  and  a  little,  knobby  chin  and 
a  bit  of  pinkish  forehead  with  the  pale  yellow  of  hair 
above.  He  leaned  and  cocked  his  head  to  one  side 
to  see  more — -but  at  that  moment  he  heard  Bud 
stamping  off  the  snow  from  his  feet  on  the  door 
step,  and  he  took  two  long,  noiseless  strides  to  the 
dish  cupboard  and  was  fumbling  there  with  his  back 
to  the  bunk  when  Bud  came  tiptoeing  in. 

Bud  started  a  fire  in  the  fireplace  and  heaped  the 
dry  limbs  high.  Cash  fried  his  bacon,  made  his  tea, 
and  set  the  table  for  his  midday  meal.  Bud  waited 
for  the  baby  to  wake,  looking  at  his  watch  every  min 
ute  or  two,  and  making  frequent  cautious  trips  to 
the  bunk,  peeking  and  peering  to  see  if  the  child  was 
all  right.  It  seemed  unnatural  that  it  should  sleep 
so  long  in  the  daytime.  !N"o  telling  what  that  squaw 
had  done  to  it;  she  might  have  doped  it  or  some 
thing.  He  thought  the  kid's  face  looked  red,  as  if 

192 


CASH  GETS  A  SHOCK 

it  had  fever,  and  lie  reached  down  and  touched  anx 
iously  the  hand  that  was  uncovered.  The  hand  was 
warm  —  too  warm,  in  Bud's  opinion.  It  would  be 
just  his  luck  if  the  kid  got  sick,  he'd  have  to  pack  it 
clear  in  to  Alpine  in  his  arms.  Fifteen  miles  of  that 
did  not  appeal  to  Bud,  whose  arms  ached  after  the 
two-mile  trip  with  that  solid  little  body  lying  at  ease 
in  the  cradle  they  made. 

His  back  to  that  end  of  the  room,  Cash  sat  stiff- 
necked  and  stubbornly  speechless,  and  ate  and  drank 
as  though  he  were  alone  in  the  cabin.  Whenever 
Bud's  mind  left  Lovin  Child  long  enough  to  think 
about  it,  he  watched  Cash  furtively  for  some  sign 
of  yielding,  some  softening  of  that  grim  grudge.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  though  Cash  was  not  human,  or  he 
would  show  some  signs  of  life  when  a  live  baby  was 
brought  to  camp  and  laid  down  right  under  his  nose. 

Cash  finished  and  began  washing  his  dishes,  keep 
ing  his  back  turned  toward  Bud  and  Bud's  new  pos 
session,  and  trying  to  make  it  appear  that  he  did  so 
unconsciously.  He  did  not  fool  Bud  for  a  minute. 
Bud  knew  that  Cash  was  nearly  bursting  with  cu 
riosity,  and  he  had  occasional  fleeting  impulses  to 

193 


CABIN  FEVER 

provoke  Cash  to  speech  of  some  sort.  Perhaps  Cash 
knew  what  was  in  Bud's  mind.  At  any  rate  he  left 
the  cabin  and  went  out  and  chopped  wood  for  an 
hour,  furiously  raining  chips  into  the  snow. 

When  he  went  in  with  his  arms  piled  full  of  cut 
wood,  Bud  had  the  bahy  sitting  on  one  corner  of  the 
table,  and  was  feeding  it  bread  and  gravy  as  the  near 
est  approach  to  baby  food  he  could  think  of.  Dur 
ing  occasional  interludes  in  the  steady  procession  of 
bits  of  bread  from  the  plate  to  the  baby's  mouth, 
Lovin  Child  would  suck  a  bacon  rind  which  he  held 
firmly  grasped  in  a  greasy  little  fist.  Now  and  then 
Bud  would  reach  into  his  hip  pocket,  pull  out  his 
handkerchief  as  a  make-shift  napkin,  and  would  care 
fully  wipe  the  border  of  gravy  from  the  baby's  mouth, 
and  stuff  the  handkerchief  back  into  his  pocket  again. 

Both  seemed  abominably  happy  and  self-satisfied. 
Lovin  Child  kicked  his  heels  against  the  rough  table 
frame  and  gurgled  unintelligible  conversation  when 
ever  he  was  able  to  articulate  sounds.  Bud  replied 
with  a  rambling  monologue  that  implied  a  perfect 
understanding  of  Lovin  Child's  talk  —  and  inci 
dentally  doled  out  information  for  Cash's  benefit. 

194 


CASH  GETS  A  SHOCK 

Cash  cocked  an  eye  at  the  two  as  he  went  by,  threw 
the  wood  down  on  his  side  of  the  hearth,  and  began 
to  replenish  the  fire.  If  he  heard,  he  gave  no  sign 
of  understanding  or  interest. 

"  I'll  bet  that  old  squaw  musta  half  starved  yuh," 
Bud  addressed  the  baby  while  he  spooned  gravy  out 
of  a  white  enamel  bowl  on  to  the  second  slice  of 
bread.  "  You're  putting  away  grub  like  a  nigger  at 
a  barbecue.  I'll  tell  the  world  I  don't  know  what 
woulda  happened  if  I  hadn't  run  across  yuh  and 
made  her  hand  yuh  over." 

"Ja  —  ja — 'ja- — jali!"  said  Lovin  Child,  nod 
ding  his  head  and  regarding  Bud  with  the  twinkle  in 
his  eyes. 

"  And  that's  where  you're  dead  right,  Boy.  I  sure 
do  wish  you'd  tell  me  your  name ;  but  I  reckon  that's 
too  much  to  ask  of  a  little  geezer  like  you.  Here. 
Help  yourself,  kid  —  you  ain't  in  no  Injun  camp 
now.  You're  with  white  folks  now." 

Cash  sat  down  on  the  bench  he  had  made  for  him 
self,  and  stared  into  the  fire.  His  whole  attitude 
spelled  abstraction;  nevertheless  he  missed  no  little 
sound  behind  him. 

195 


CABIN  FEVER 

He  knew  that  Bud  was  talking  largely  for  his  bene 
fit,  and  he  knew  that  here  was  the  psychological  time 
for  breaking  the  spell  of  silence  between  them.  Yet 
he  let  the  minutes  slip  past  and  would  not  yield. 
The  quarrel  had  been  of  Bud's  making  in  the  first 
place.  Let  Bud  do  the  yielding,  make  the  first  step 
toward  amity. 

But  Bud  had  other  things  to  occupy  him  just  then. 
Having  eaten  all  his  small  stomach  would  hold,  Lovin 
Child  wanted  to  get  down  and  explore.  Bud  had 
other  ideas,  but  they  did  not  seem  to  count  for  much 
with  Lovin  Child,  who  had  an  insistent  way  that  was 
scarcely  to  be  combated  or  ignored. 

"  But  listen  here,  Boy !  "  Bud  protested,  after  he 
had  for  the  third  time  prevented  Lovin  Child  from 
backing  off  the  table.  "  I  was  going  to  take  off  these 
dirty  duds  and  wash  some  of  the  Injun  smell  off 
yuh.  Pll  tell  a  waiting  world  you  need  a  bath,  and 
your  clothes  washed." 

"  Unh,  unh,  unh,"  persisted  Lovin  Child,  and 
pointed  to  the  floor. 

So  Bud  sighed  and  made  a  virtue  of  defeat.  "  Oh, 
well,  they  say  it's  bad  policy  to  take  a  bath  right  after 

196 


CASH  GETS  A  SHOCK 

yah  eat.  We'll  let  it  ride  awhile,  but  you  sure  have 
got  to  be  scrubbed  a  plenty  before  you  can  crawl  in 
with  me,  old-timer/7  he  said,  and  set  him  down  on 
the  floor. 

Lovin  Child  went  immediately  about  the  business 
that  seemed  most  important.  He  got  down  on  his 
hands  and  knees  and  gravely  inspected  the  broad 
black  line,  hopefully  testing  it  with  tongue  and  with 
fingers  to  see  if  it  would  yield  him  anything  in  the 
way  of  flavor  or  stickiness.  It  did  not.  It  had 
been  there  long  enough  to  be  thoroughly  dry  and  taste 
less.  He  got  up,  planted  both  feet  on  it  and  teetered 
back  and  forth,  chuckling  up  at  Bud  with  his  eyes 
squinted. 

He  teetered  so  enthusiastically  that  he  sat  down  un 
expectedly  and  with  much  emphasis.  That  put  him 
between  two  impulses,  and  while  they  battled  he 
stared  round-eyed  at  Bud.  But  he  decided  not  to 
cry,  and  straightway  turned  himself  into  a  growly 
bear  and  went  down  the  line  on  all  fours  toward  Cash, 
growling  "  Ooooooo !  "  as  f earsomely  as  his  baby 
throat  was  capable  of  growling. 

But  Cash  would  not  be  scared.  He  refused  abso- 
197 


CABIN  FEVER 

lutely  to  jump  up  and  back  off  in  wild-eyed  terror, 
crying  out  "  Ooh !  Here  comes  a  bear !  "  the  way 
Marie  had  always  done  —  the  way  every  one  had  al 
ways  done,  when  Lovin  Child  got  down  and  came  at 
them  growling.  Cash  sat  rigid  with  his  face  to  the 
fire,  and  would  not  look. 

Lovin  Child  crawled  all  around  him  and  growled 
his  terriblest.  For  some  unexplainable  reason  it  did 
not  work.  Cash  sat  stiff  as  though  he  had  turned 
to  some  insensate  metal.  Prom  where  he  sat  watch 
ing  —  curious  to  see  what  Cash  would  do  —  Bud 
saw  him  flinch  and  stiffen  as  a  man  does  under  pain. 
And  because  Bud  had  a  sore  spot  in  his  own  heart, 
Bud  felt  a  quick  stab  of  understanding  and  sym 
pathy.  Cash  Markham's  past  could  not  have  been 
a  blank;  more  likely  it  held  too  much  of  sorrow  for 
the  salve  of  speech  to  lighten  its  hurt.  There  might 
have  been  a  child.  .  .  . 

"  Aw,  come  back  here !  "  Bud  commanded  Lovin 
Child  gruffly.  • 

But  Lovin  Child  was  too  busy.  He  had  discov 
ered  in  his  circling  of  Cash,  the  funny  buckles  on 
Cash's  high  overshoes.  He  was  investigating  them 

198 


CASH  GETS  A  SHOCK 

as  he  had  investigated  the  line,  with  fingers  and 
with  pink  tongue,  like  a  puppy.  From  the  lowest 
buckle  he  went  on  to  the  top  one,  where  Cash's  khaki 
trousers  were  tucked  inside  with  a  deep  fold  on  top. 
Lovin  Child's  small  forefinger  went  sliding  up  in  the 
mysterious  recesses  of  the  fold  until  they  reached 
the  flat  surface  of  the  knee.  He  looked  up  farther, 
studying  Cash's  set  face,  sitting  back  on  his  little 
heels  while  he  did  so.  Cash  tried  to  keep  on  staring 
into  the  fire,  but  in  spite  of  himself  his  eyes  lowered 
to  meet  the  upward  look. 

"  Pik-k  ?  "  chirped  Lovin  Child,  spreading  his  fin 
gers  over  one  eye  and  twinkling  up  at  Cash  with 
the  other. 

Cash  flinched  again,  wavered,  swallowed  twice,  and 
got  up  so  abruptly  that  Lovin  Child  sat  down  again 
with  a  plunk.  Cash  muttered  something  in  his 
throat  and  rushed  out  into  the  wind  and  the 
slow-falling  tiny  white  flakes  that  presaged  the 
storm. 

Until  the  door  slammed  shut  Lovin  Child  looked 
after  him,  scowling,  his  eyes  a  blaze  of  resentment. 
He  brought  his  palms  together  with  a  vicious  slap, 

199 


CABIN  FEVER 

leaned  over,  and  bumped  his  forehead  deliberately 
and  painfully  upon  the  flat  rock  hearth,  and  set  up 
a  howl  that  could  have  been  heard  for  three  city 
blocks. 


200 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

AND    BUD    NEVER    GUESSED 

THAT  night,  when  lie  had  been  given  a  bath  in 
the  little  zinc  tub  they  used  for  washing  clothes, 
and  had  been  carefully  buttoned  inside  a  clean  under 
shirt  of  Bud's,  for  want  of  better  raiment,  Lovin 
Child  missed  something  out  of  his  sleepytime  cud 
dling.  He  wanted  Marie,  and  he  did  not  know  how 
to  make  his  want  known  to  this  big,  tender,  awkward 
man  who  had  befriended  him  and  filled  his  thoughts 
till  bedtime.  He  began  to  whimper  and  look  seek- 
ingly  around  the  little  cabin.  The  whimper  grew 
to  a  cry  which  Bud's  rude  rocking  back  and  forth  on 
the  box  before  the  fireplace  could  not  still. 

"M'ee —  take!"  wailed  Lovin  Child,  sitting  up 
and  listening.  "  M'ee  take  —  Uvin  Chal !  " 

"Aw,  now,  you  don't  wanta  go  and  act  like  that. 
Listen  here,  Boy.  You  lay  down  here  and  go  to 
sleep.  You  can  search  me  for  what  it  is  you're  try 
ing  to  say,  but  I  guess  you  want  your  mama,  maybe, 

201 


CABIN  FEVER 

or  your  bottle,  chances  are.  Aw,  looky ! "  Bud 
pulled  his  watch  from  his  pocket  —  a  man's  infalli 
ble  remedy  for  the  weeping  of  infant  charges  —  and 
dangled  it  anxiously  before  Lovin  Child. 

With  some  difficulty  he  extracted  the  small  hands 
from  the  long  limp  tunnels  of  sleeves,  and  placed  the 
watch  in  the  eager  fingers. 

"  Listen  to  the  tick-tick !  Aw,  I  wouldn't  bite  into 
it  ...  oh,  well,  darn  it,  if  nothing  else'll  do  yuh, 
why,  eat  it  up !  " 

Lovin  Child  stopped  crying  and  condescended  to 
take  a  languid  interest  in  the  watch  —  which  had  a 
picture  of  Marie  pasted  inside  the  back  of  the  case, 
by  the  way.  "  Ee  ? "  he  inquired,  with  a  pitiful 
little  catch  in  his  breath,  and  held  it  up  for  Bud  to 
see  the  busy  little  second  hand.  "  Ee  ?  "  he  smiled 
tearily  and  tried  to  show  Cash,  sitting  aloof  on  his 
bench  beside  the  head  of  his  bunk  and  staring  into 
the  fire.  But  Cash  gave  no  sign  that  he  heard  or 
saw  anything  save  the  visions  his  memory  was  con 
juring  in  the  dancing  flames. 

"  Lay  down,  now,  like  a  good  boy,  and  go  to  sleep," 
Bud  wheedled.  "  You  can  hold  it  if  you  want  to  — 

202 


AND  BUD  NEVER  GUESSED 

only  don't  drop  it  on  the  floor  —  here !  Quit  kickin' 
your  feet  out  like  that !  You  wanta  freeze  ?  I'll  tell 
the  world  straight,  it's  plumb  cold  and  snaky  outside 
to-night,  and  you're  pretty  darn  lucky  to  be  here 
instead  of  in  some  Injun  camp  where  you'd  have  to 
bed  down  with  a  mess  of  mangy  dogs,  most  likely. 
Come  on,  now  —  lay  down  like  a  good  boy !  " 

"M'ee!  M'ee  take!"  teased  Lovin  Child,  and 
wept  again;  steadily,  insistently,  with  a  monotonous 
vigor  that  rasped  Bud's  nerves  and  nagged  him  with 
a  vague  memory  of  something  familiar  and  unpleas 
ant.  He  rocked  his  body  backward  and  forward,  and 
frowned  while  he  tried  to  lay  hold  of  the  memory. 
It  was  the  high-keyed  wailing  of  this  same  man-child 
wanting  his  bottle,  but  it  eluded  Bud  completely. 
There  was  a  tantalizing  sense  of  familiarity  with  the 
sound,  but  the  lungs  and  the  vocal  chords  of  Lovin 
Child  had  developed  amazingly  in  two  years,  and 
he  had  lost  the  small-infant  wafr-hah. 

Bud  did  not  remember,  but  for  all  that  his  thoughts 
went  back  across  those  two  years  and  clung  to  his 
own  baby,  and  he  wished  poignantly  that  he  knew 
how  it  was  getting  along;  and  wondered  if  it  had 

203 


CABIN  FEVER 

grown  to  be  as  big  a  handful  as  this  youngster,  and 
how  Marie  would  handle  the  emergency  he  was  strug 
gling  with  now :  a  lost,  lonesome  baby  -boy  that  would 
not  go  to  sleep  and  could  not  tell  why. 

Yet  Lovin  Child  was  answering  every  one  of  Bud's 
mute  questions.  Lying  there  in  his  "  Daddy  Bud's  " 
arms,  wrapped  comically  in  his  Daddy  Bud's  softest 
undershirt,  Lovin  Child  was  proving  to  his  Daddy 
Bud  that  his  own  man-child  was  strong  and  beauti 
ful  and  had  a  keen  little  brain  behind  those  twin 
kling  blue  eyes.  He  was  telling  why  he  cried.  He 
wanted  Marie  to  take  him  and  rock  him  to  sleep, 
just  as  she  had  rocked  him  to  sleep  every  night  of 
his  young  memory,  until  that  time  when  he  had 
toddled  out  of  her  life  and  into  a  new  and  peculiar 
world  that  held  no  Marie. 

By  and  by  he  slept,  still  clinging  to  the  watch  that 
had  Marie's  picture  in  the  back.  When  he  was  all 
limp  and  rosy  and  breathing  softly  against  Bud's 
heart,  Bud  tiptoed  over  to  the  bunk,  reached  down 
inconveniently  with  one  hand  and  turned  back  the 
blankets,  and  laid  Lovin  Child  in  his  bed  and  covered 
him  carefully.  On  his  bench  beyond  the  dead  line 

204 


AND  BUD  NEVER  GUESSED 

Cash  sat  leaning  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  sucked  at  a  pipe  gone  cold,  and  stared  ab 
stractedly  into  the  fire. 

Bud  looked  at  him  sitting  there.  For  the  first  time 
since  their  trails  had  joined,  he  wondered  what  Cash 
was  thinking  about;  wondered  with  a  new  kind  of 
sympathy  about  Cash's  lonely  life,  that  held  no  ties, 
no  warmth  of  love.  For  the  first  time  it  struck  him 
as  significant  that  in  the  two  years,  almost,  of  their 
constant  companionship,  Cash's  reminiscences  had 
stopped  abruptly  about  fifteen  years  back.  Beyond 
that  he  never  went,  save  now  and  then  when  he 
jumped  a  space,  to  the  time  when  he  was  a  boy.  Of 
what  dark  years  lay  between,  Bud  had  never  been 
permitted  a  glimpse. 

"  Some  kid  —  that  kid,"  Bud  observed  involun 
tarily,  for  the  first  time  in  over  three  weeks  speaking 
when  he  was  not  compelled  to  speak  to  Cash.  "  I 
wish  I  knew  where  he  came  from.  He  wants  his 
mother." 

Cash  stirred  a  little,  like  a  sleeper  only  half  awak 
ened.  But  he  did  not  reply,  and  Bud  gave  an  im 
patient  snort,  tiptoed  over  and  picked  up  the  dis- 

205 


CABIN  FEVER 

carded  clothes  of  Lovin  Child,  that  held  still  a  faint 
odor  of  wood  smoke  and  rancid  grease,  and,  remov 
ing  his  shoes  that  he  might  move  silently,  went  to 
work. 

He  washed  Lovin  Child's  clothes,  even  to  the  red 
sweater  suit  and  the  fuzzy  red  "  bunny  "  cap.  He 
rigged  a  line  before  the  fireplace  —  on  his  side  of  the 
dead  line,  to  be  sure  —  hung  the  little  garments  upon 
it  and  sat  up  to  watch  the  fire  while  they  dried. 

While  he  rubbed  and  rinsed  and  wrung  and  hung 
to  dry,  he  had  planned  the  details  of  taking  the  baby 
to  Alpine  and  placing  it  in  good  hands  there  until  its 
parents  could  be  found.  It  was  stolen,  he  had  no 
doubt  at  all.  He  could  picture  quite  plainly  the 
agony  of  the  parents,  and  common  humanity  imposed 
upon  him  the  duty  of  shortening  their  misery  as  much 
as  possible.  But  one  day  of  the  baby's  presence  he 
had  taken,  with  the  excuse  that  it  needed  immediate 
warmth  and  wholesome  food.  His  conscience  did  not 
trouble  him  over  that  short  delay,  for  he  was  honest 
enough  in  his  intentions  and  convinced  that  he  had 
done  the  right  thing. 

Cash  had  long  ago  undressed  and  gone  to  bed, 
206 


AND  BUD  NEVER  GUESSED 

turning  his  back  to  the  warm,  fire-lighted  room  and 
pulling  the  blankets  up  to  his  ears.  He  either  slept 
or  pretended  to  sleep,  Bud  did  not  know  which.  Of 
the  baby's  healthy  slumber  there  was  no  doubt  at  all. 
Bud  put  on  his  overshoes  and  went  outside  after  more 
wood,  so  that  there  would  be  no  delay  in  starting  the 
fire  in  the  morning  and  having  the  cabin  warm  be 
fore  the  baby  woke. 

It  was  snowing  fiercely,  and  the  wind  was  biting 
cold.  Already  the  woodpile  was  drifted  under,  so 
that  Bud  had  to  go  back  and  light  the  lantern  and 
hang  it  on  a  nail  in  the  cabin  wall  before  he  could 
make  any  headway  at  shovelling  off  the  heaped  snow 
and  getting  at  the  wood  beneath.  He  worked  hard 
for  half  an  hour,  and  carried  in  all  the  wood  that 
had  been  cut.  He  even  piled  Cash's  end  of  the 
hearth  high  with  the  surplus,  after  his  own  side  was 
heaped  full. 

A  storm  like  that  meant  that  plenty  of  fuel  would 
be  needed  to  keep  the  cabin  snug  and  warm,  and  he 
was  thinking  of  the  baby's  comfort  now,  and  would 
not  be  hampered  by  any  grudge. 

When  he  had  done  everything  he  could  do  that 
207 


CABIN  FEVER 

would  add  to  the  baby's  comfort,  he  folded  the  little 
garments  and  laid  them  on  a  box  ready  for  morning. 
Then,  moving  carefully,  he  crawled  into  the  bed  made 
warm  by  the  little  body.  Lovin  Child,  half  wakened 
by  the  movement,  gave  a  little  throaty  chuckle,  mur 
mured  "  M'ee,"  and  threw  one  fat  arm  over  Bud's 
neck  and  left  it  there. 

"  Gawd/'  Bud  whispered  in  a  swift  passion  of  long 
ing,  "  I  wish  you  was  my  own  kid !  "  He  snuggled 
Lovin  Child  close  in  his  arms  and  held  him  there, 
and  stared  dim-eyed  at  the  flickering  shadows  on 
the  wall.  What  he  thought,  what  visions  filled  his 
vigil,  who  can  say  ? 


208 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

THE    ANTIDOTE 

THREE  days  it  stormed  with  never  a  break; 
stormed  so  that  the  men  dreaded  the  carrying 
of  water  from  the  spring  that  hecame  ice-rimmed  hut 
never  froze  over ;  that  clogged  with  sodden  masses  of 
snow  half  melted  and  sent  faint  wisps  of  steam  up 
into  the  chill  air.  Cutting  wood  was  an  ordeal,  every 
armload  an  achievement.  Cash  did  not  even  attempt 
to  visit  his  trap  line,  hut  sat  before  the  fire  smoking 
or  staring  into  the  flames,  or  pottered  about  the  little 
domestic  duties  that  could  not  half  fill  the  days. 

With  melted  snow  water,  a  bar  of  yellow  soap,  and 
one  leg  of  an  old  pair  of  drawers,  he  scrubbed  on 
his  knees  the  floor  on  his  side  of  the  dead  line,  and 
tried  not  to  notice  Lovin  Child.  He  failed  only  be 
cause  Lovin  Child  refused  to  be  ignored,  but  insisted 
upon  occupying  the  immediate  foreground  and  in 
helping  —  much  as  he  had  helped  Marie  pack  her 

209 


CABIN  FEVER 

suit  case  one  fateful  afternoon  not  so  long  before. 
When  Lovin  Child  was  not  permitted  to  dabble  in 
the  pan  of  soapy  water,  he  revenged  himself  by  bring 
ing  Cash's  mitten  and  throwing  that  in,  and  crying 
"  Ee  ?  Ee  ?  "  with  a  shameless  delight  because  it 
sailed  round  and  round  until  Cash  turned  and  saw 
it,  and  threw  it  out. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  Lovin  Child  admonished  himself 
gravely,  and  got  it  and  threw  it  back  again. 

Cash  did  not  say  anything.  Indeed,  he  hid  a  grin 
under  his  thick,  curling  beard  which  he  had  grown 
since  the  first  frost  as  a  protection  against  cold.  He 
picked  up  the  mitten  and  laid  it  to  dry  on  the  slab 
mantel,  and  when  he  returned,  Lovin  Child  was  sit 
ting  in  the  pan,  rocking  back  and  forth  and  croon 
ing  "  '0cfc-a-by !  '0cfc-a-by !  "  with  the  impish  twinkle 
in  his  eyes. 

Cash  was  just  picking  him  out  of  the  pan  when 
Bud  came  in  with  a  load  of  wood.  Bud  hastily 
dropped  the  wood,  and  without  a  word  Cash  handed 
Lovin  Child  across  the  dead  line,  much  as  he  would 
have  handed  over  a  wet  puppy.  Without  a  word 
Bud  took  him,  but  the  quirky  smile  hid  at  the  corners 

210 


THE  ANTIDOTE 

of  his  mouth,  and  under  Cash's  beard  still  lurked 
the  grin. 

"  No,  no,  no !  "  Lovin  Child  kept  repeating  smugly, 
all  the  while  Bud  was  stripping  off  his  wet  clothes 
and  chucking  him  into  the  undershirt  he  wore  for  a 
nightgown,  and  trying  a  man's  size  pair  of  socks  on 
his  legs. 

"  I  should  say  no-no-no !  You  doggone  little  ras 
cal,  I'd  rather  herd  a  flea  on  a  hot  plate!  I've  a 
plumb  good  notion  to  hog-tie  yuh  for  awhile.  Can't 
trust  yuh  a  minute  nowhere.  Now  look  what  you 
got  to  wear  while  your  clothes  dry !  " 

"  Ee  ?  Ee  ?  "  invited  Lovin  Child,  gleefully  hold 
ing  up  a  muffled  little  foot  lost  in  the  depths  of  Bud's 
sock. 

"  Oh,  I  see,  all  right !  I'll  tell  the  world  I  see 
you're  a  doggone  nuisance !  Now  see  if  you  can  keep 
outa  mischief  till  I  get  the  wood  carried  in." 

Bud  set  him  down  on  the  bunk,  gave  him  a  mail 
order  catalogue  to  look  at,  and  went  out  again  into 
the  storm.  When  he  came  back,  Lovin  Child  was 
sitting  on  the  hearth  with  the  socks  off,  and  was 
picking  bits  of  charcoal  from  the  ashes  and  crunch- 

211 


CABIN  FEVER 

ing  them  like  candy  in  his  small,  white  teeth.  Cash 
was  hurrying  to  finish  his  scrubbing  before  the  char 
coal  gave  out,  and  was  keeping  an  eye  on  the  crunch 
ing  to  see  that  Lovin  Child  did  not  get  a  hot  em 
ber. 

"  H'yah !  You  young  imp !  "  Bud  shouted,  stub 
bing  his  toe  as  he  hurried  forward.  "  Watcha  think 
you  are  —  a  fire-eater,  for  gosh  sake  ?  " 

Cash  bent  his  head  low  —  it  may  have  been  to 
hide  a  chuckle.  Bud  was  having  his  hands  full  with 
the  kid,  and  he  was  trying  to  be  stern  against  the 
handicap  of  a  growing  worship  of  Lovin  Child  and 
all  his  little  ways.  Now  Lovin  Child  was  all  over 
ashes,  and  the  clean  undershirt  was  clean  no  longer, 
after  having  much  charcoal  rubbed  into  its  texture. 
Bud  was  not  overstocked  with  clothes;  much  travel 
ing  had  formed  the  habit  of  buying  as  he  needed  for 
immediate  use.  With  Lovin  Child  held  firmly  un 
der  one  arm,  where  he  would  be  sure  of  him,  he 
emptied  his  "  war-bag  "  on  the  bunk  and  hunted  out 
another  shirt. 

Lovin  Child  got  a  bath,  that  time,  because  of  the 
ashes  he  had  managed  to  gather  on  his  feet  and  his 

212 


THE  ANTIDOTE 

hands  and  his  head.  Bud  was  patient,  and  Lovin 
Child  was  delightedly  unrepentant  —  until  he  was 
buttoned  into  another  shirt  of  Bud's,  and  the  socks 
were  tied  on  him. 

"  Now,  doggone  yuh,  I'm  goin'  to  stake  you  out, 
or  hobble  yuh,  or  some  darn  thing,  till  I  get  that  wood 
in !  "  he  thundered,  with  his  eyes  laughing.  "  You 
want  to  freeze?  Hey?  Now  you're  goin'  to  stay 
right  on  this  bunk  till  I  get  through,  because  I'm 
goin'  to  tie  yuh  on.  You  may  holler  —  but  you  little 
son  of  a  gun,  you'll  stay  safe !  " 

So  Bud  tied  him,  with  a  necktie  around  his  body 
for  a  belt,  and  a  strap  fastened  to  that  and  to  a  stout 
nail  in  the  wall  over  the  bunk.  And  Lovin  Child, 
when  he  discovered  that  it  was  not  a  new  game  but 
instead  a  check  upon  his  activities,  threw  himself  on 
his  back  and  held  his  breath  until  he  was  purple,  and 
then  screeched  with  rage. 

I  don't  suppose  Bud  ever  carried  in  wood  so  fast 
in  his  life.  He  might  as  well  have  taken  his  time, 
for  Lovin  Child  was  in  one  of  his  fits  of  temper,  the 
kind  that  his  grandmother  invariably  called  his 
father's  cussedness  coming  out  in  him.  He  howled 

213 


CABIN  FEVER 

for  an  hour  and  had  both  men  nearly  frantic  before 
he  suddenly  stopped  and  began  to  play  with  the 
things  he  had  scorned  before  to  touch ;  the  things  that 
had  made  him  bow  his  back  and  scream  when  they 
were  offered  to  him  hopefully. 

Bud,  his  sleeves  rolled  up,  his  hair  rumpled  and 
the  perspiration  standing  thick  on  his  forehead,  stood 
over  him  with  his  hands  on  his  hips,  the  picture  of 
perturbed  helplessness. 

"  You  doggone  little  devil !  "  he  breathed,  his  mind 
torn  between  amusement  and  exasperation.  "  If  you 
was  my  own  kid,  I'd  spank  yuh!  But,"  he  added 
with  a  little  chuckle,  "  if  you  was  my  own  kid,  I'd 
tell  the  world  you  come  by  that  temper  honestly. 
Darned  if  I  wouldn't." 

Cash,  sitting  dejected  on  the  side  of  his  own  bunk, 
lifted  his  head,  and  after  that  his  hawklike  brows, 
and  stared  from  the  face  of  Bud  to  the  face  of  Lovin 
Child.  For  the  first  time  he  was  struck  with  the 
resemblance  between  the  two.  The  twinkle  in  the 
eyes,  the  quirk  of  the  lips,  the  shape  of  the  forehead 
and,  emphasizing  them  all,  the  expression  of  having 
a  secret  joke,  struck  him  with  a  kind  of  shock.  If 

214 


THE  ANTIDOTE 

it  were  possible.  .  .  .  But,  even  in  the  delirium 
of  fever,  Bud  had  never  hinted  that  he  had  a  child,  or 
a  wife  even.  He  had  firmly  planted  in  Cash's  mind 
the  impression  that  his  life  had  never  held  any 
close  ties  whatsoever.  So,  lacking  the  clue,  Cash 
only  wondered  and  did  not  suspect. 

What  most  troubled  Cash  was  the  fact  that  he  had 
unwittingly  caused  all  the  trouble  for  Lovin  Child. 
He  should  not  have  tried  to  scrub  the  floor  with  the 
kid  running  loose  all  over  the  place.  As  a  slight 
token  of  his  responsibility  in  the  matter,  he  watched 
his  chance  when  Bud  was  busy  at  the  old  cookstove, 
and  tossed  a  rabbit  fur  across  to  Lovin  Child  to  play 
with ;  a  risky  thing  to  do,  since  he  did  not  know  what 
were  Lovin  Child's  little  peculiarities  in  the  way  of 
receiving  strange  gifts.  But  he  was  lucky.  Lovin 
Child  was  enraptured  with  the  soft  fur  and  rubbed 
it  over  his  baby  cheeks  and  cooed  to  it  and  kissed  it, 
and  said  "  Ee  ?  Ee  ? "  to  Cash,  which  was  reward 
enough. 

There  was  a  strained  moment  when  Bud  came  over 
and  discovered  what  it  was  he  was  having  so  much 
fun  with.  Having  had  three  days  of  experience  by 

215 


CABIN  FEVER 

which  to  judge,  lie  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that 
Lovin  Child  had  been  in  mischief  again. 

"  Now  what  yuh  up  to,  you  little  scallywag  ?  "  he 
demanded.  "  How  did  you  get  hold  of  that  ?  Con- 
sarn  your  little  hide,  Boy  .  .  ." 

"  Let  the  kid  have  it,"  Cash  muttered  gruffly.  "  I 
gave  it  to  him."  He  got  up  abruptly  and  went  out 
side,  and  came  in  with  wood  for  the  cookstove,  and 
became  exceedingly  busy,  never  once  looking  toward 
the  other  end  of  the  room,  where  Bud  was  sprawled 
upon  his  back  on  the  bunk,  with  Lovin  Child  astride 
his  middle,  having  a  high  old  time  with  a  wonderful 
new  game  of  "  bronk  riding." 

!N"ow  and  then  Bud  would  stop  bucking  long  enough 
to  slap  Lovin  Child  in  the  face  with  the  soft  side  of 
the  rabbit  fur,  and  Lovin  Child  would  squint  his  eyes 
and  wrinkle  his  nose  and  laugh  until  he  seemed  likely 
to  choke.  Then  Bud  would  cry,  "Ride  Jim,  Boy! 
Ride  ?im  an'  scratch  ?im.  Go  get  'im,  cowboy  — 
he's  your  meat !  "  and  would  bounce  Lovin  Child  till 
he  squealed  with  glee. 

Cash  tried  to  ignore  all  that.  Tried  to  keep  his 
back  to  it.  But  he  was  human,  and  Bud  was  changed 

216 


THE  ANTIDOTE 

so  completely  in  the  last  three  days  that  Cash  could 
scarcely  credit  his  eyes  and  his  ears.  The  old  surly 
scowl  was  gone  from  Bud's  face,  his  eyes  held  again 
the  twinkle.  Cash  listened  to  the  whoops,  the  bahy 
laughter,  the  old,  rodeo  catch-phrases,  and  grinned 
while  he  fried  his  bacon. 

Presently  Bud  gave  a  whoop,  forgetting  the  feud 
in  his  play.  "  Lookit,  Cash !  He's  ridin'  straight 
up  and  whippin'  as  he  rides!  He's  so-o-me  bronk- 
fighter,  buh-lieve  me  !  " 

Cash  turned  and  looked,  grinned  and  turned  away 
again  —  but  only  to  strip  the  rind  off  a  fresh-fried 
slice  of  bacon  the  full  width  of  the  piece.  He  came 
down  the  room  on  his  own  side  the  dead  line,  and 
tossed  the  rind  across  to  the  bunk. 

"  Quirt  him  with  that,  Boy,"  he  grunted,  "  and 
then  you  can  eat  it  if  you  want." 


217 


CHAPTEK  SEVENTEEN 

LOVIN   CHILD   WKIGGLES   IN 

ON  the  fourth  day  Bud's  conscience  pricked  him 
into  making  a  sort  of  apology  to  Cash,  under 
the  guise  of  speaking  to  Lovin  Child,  for  still  keep 
ing  the  baby  in  camp. 

"  I've  got  a  blame  good  notion  to  pack  you  to  town 
to-day,  Boy,  and  try  and  find  out  where  you  belong," 
he  said,  while  he  was  feeding  him  oatmeal  mush  with 
sugar  and  canned  milk.  "  It's  pretty  cold,  though 
.  .  ."  He  cast  a  slant-eyed  glance  at  Cash,  dourly 
frying  his  own  hotcakes.  "  We'll  see  what  it  looks 
like  after  a  while.  I  sure  have  got  to  hunt  up  your 
folks  soon  as  I  can.  Ain't  I,  old-timer  ?  " 

That  salved  his  conscience  a  little,  and  freed  him 
of  the  uneasy  conviction  that  Cash  believed  him  a 
kidnapper.  The  weather  did  the  rest.  An  hour 
after  breakfast,  just  when  Bud  was  downheartedly 
thinking  he  could  not  much  longer  put  off  starting 
without  betraying  how  hard  it  was  going  to  be  for  him 

218 


LOVIN  CHILD  WRIGGLES  IN 

to  give  up  the  baby,  the  wind  shifted  the  clouds  and 
herded  them  down  to  the  Big  Mountain  and  held 
them  there  until  they  began  to  sift  snow  down  upon 
the  burdened  pines. 

"  Gee,  it's  going  to  storm  again !  "  Bud  blus 
tered  in.  "  It'll  be  snowing  like  all  git-out  in  another 
hour.  I'll  tell  a  cruel  world  I  wouldn't  take  a  dog 
out  such  weather  as  this.  Your  folks  may  be  wor 
rying  about  yuh,  Boy,  but  they  ain't  going  to  climb 
my  carcass  for  packing  yuh  fifteen  miles  in  a  snow 
storm  and  letting  yuh  freeze,  maybe.  I  guess  the 
cabin's  big  enough  to  hold  yuh  another  day  —  what  ?  " 

Cash  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  pinched  in  his  lips 
under  his  beard.  It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  Bud 
that  one  of  them  could  stay  in  the  cabin  with  the 
baby  while  the  other  carried  to  Alpine  the  news  of 
the  baby's  whereabouts  and  its  safety.  Or  if  it  did 
occur  to  Bud,  he  was  careful  not  to  consider  it  a 
feasible  plan.  Cash  wondered  if  Bud  thought  he 
was  pulling  the  wool  over  anybody's  eyes.  Bud  did 
not  want  to  give  up  that  kid,  and  he  was  tickled  to 
death  because  the  storm  gave  him  an  excuse  for 
keeping  it.  Cash  was  cynically  amused  at  Bud's 

219 


CABIN  FEVER 

transparency.  But  the  kid  was  none  of  his  business, 
and  he  did  not  intend  to  make  any  suggestions  that 
probably  would  not  be  taken  anyway.  Let  Bud  pre 
tend  he  was  anxious  to  give  up  the  baby,  if  that  made 
him  feel  any  better  about  it. 

That  day  went  merrily  to  the  music  of  Lovin 
Child's  chuckling  laugh  and  his  unintelligible  chat 
ter.  Bud  made  the  discovery  that  "  Boy  "  was  try 
ing  to  say  Lovin  Child  when  he  wanted  to  be  taken 
and  rocked,  and  declared  that  he  would  tell  the  world 
the  name  fit,  like  a  saddle  on  a  duck's  back.  Lovin 
Child  discovered  Cash's  pipe,  and  was  caught  suck 
ing  it  before  the  fireplace  and  mimicking  Cash's  med 
itative  pose  with  a  comical  exactness  that  made  Bud 
roar.  Even  Cash  was  betrayed  into  speaking  a  whole 
sentence  to  Bud  before  he  remembered  his  grudge. 
Taken  altogether,  it  was  a  day  of  fruitful  pleasure 
in  spite  of  the  storm  outside. 

That  night  the  two  men  sat  before  the  fire  and 
watched  the  flames  and  listened  to  the  wind  roaring 
in  the  pines.  On  his  side  of  the  dead  line  Bud 
rocked  his  hard-muscled,  big  body  back  and  forth, 
cradling  Lovin  Child  asleep  in  his  arms.  In  one 

220 


LOVIN  CHILD  WRIGGLES  IN 

tender  palm  he  nested  Lovin  Child's  little  bare  feet, 
like  two  fat,  white  mice  that  slept  together  after  a 
day's  scampering. 

Bud  was  thinking,  as  he  always  thought  nowadays, 
of  Marie  and  his  own  boy ;  yearning,  tender  thoughts 
which  his  clumsy  man's  tongue  would  never  attempt 
to  speak.  Before,  he  had  thought  of  Marie  alone, 
without  the  baby;  but  he  had  learned  much,  these 
last  four  days.  He  knew  now  how  closely  a  baby 
can  creep  in  and  cling,  how  they  can  fill  the  days  with 
joy.  He  knew  how  he  would  miss  Lovin  Child  when 
the  storm  cleared  and  he  must  take  him  away.  It 
did  not  seem  right  or  just  that  he  should  give  him 
into  the  keeping  of  strangers  —  and  yet  he  must  until 
the  parents  could  have  him  back.  The  black  depths 
of  their  grief  to-night  Bud  could  not  bring  himself  to 
contemplate.  Bad  enough  to  forecast  his  own  deso- 
lateness  when  Lovin  Child  was  no  longer  romping  up 
and  down  the  dead  line,  looking  where  he  might 
find  some  mischief  to  get  into.  Bad  enough  to  know 
that  the  cabin  would  again  be  a  place  of  silence  and 
gloom  and  futile  resentments  over  little  things,  with 
no  happy  little  man-child  to  brighten  it.  He  crept 

221 


CABIN  FEVER 

into  his  bunk  that  night  and  snuggled  the  baby  up 
in  his  arms,  a  miserable  man  with  no  courage  left  in 
him  for  the  future. 

But  the  next  day  it  was  still  storming,  and  colder 
than  ever.  No  one  would  expect  him  to  take  a  baby 
out  in  such  weather.  So  Bud  whistled  and  romped 
with  Lovin  Child,  and  would  not  worry  about  what 
must  happen  when  the  storm  was  past. 

All  day  Cash  brooded  before  the  fire,  bundled  in 
his  mackinaw  and  sweater.  He  did  not  even  smoke, 
and  though  he  seemed  to  feel  the  cold  abnormally,  he 
did  not  bring  in  any  wood  except  in  the  morning,  but 
let  Bud  keep  the  fireplace  going  with  his  own  gener 
ous  supply.  He  did  not  eat  any  dinner,  and  at 
supper  time  he  went  to  bed  with  all  the  clothes  he 
possessed  piled  on  top  of  him.  By  all  these  signs, 
Bud  knew  that  Cash  had  a  bad  cold. 

Bud  did  not  think  much  about  it  at  first  —  being 
of  the  sturdy  type  that  makes  light  of  a  cold.  But 
when  Cash  began  to  cough  with  that  hoarse,  racking 
sound  that  tells  the  tale  of  laboring  lungs,  Bud  began 
to  feel  guiltily  that  he  ought  to  do  something  about  it. 

He  hushed  Lovin  Child's  romping,  that  night,  and 
222 


LOVIN  CHILD  WRIGGLES  IN 

would  not  let  him  ride  a  bronk  at  bedtime.  When 
he  was  asleep,  Bud  laid  him  down  and  went  over  to 
the  supply  cupboard,  which  he  had  been  obliged  to 
rearrange  with  everything  except  tin  cans  placed  on 
shelves  too  high  for  a  two-year-old  to  reach  even  when 
he  stood  on  his  tiptoes  and  grunted.  He  hunted  for 
the  small  bottle  of  turpentine,  found  it  and  mixed 
some  with  melted  bacon  grease,  and  went  over  to 
Cash's  bunk,  hesitating  before  he  crossed  the  dead 
line,  but  crossing  nevertheless. 

Cash  seemed  to  be  asleep,  but  his  breathing  sounded 
harsh  and  unnatural,  and  his  hand,  lying  uncovered 
on  the  blanket,  clenched  and  unclenched  spasmod 
ically.  Bud  watched  him  for  a  minute,  holding  the 
cup  of  grease  and  turpentine  in  his  hand. 

"  Say,"  he  began  constrainedly,  and  waited.  Cash 
muttered  something  and  moved  his  hand  irritatedly, 
without  opening  his  eyes.  Bud  tried  again. 

"  Say,  you  better  swab  your  chest  with  this 
dope.  Can't  monkey  with  a  cold,  such  weather  as 
this." 

Cash  opened  his  eyes,  gave  the  log  wall  a  startled 
look,  and  swung  his  glance  to  Bud.  "  Yeah  —  I'm 

223 


CABIN  FEVER 

all  right/7  he  croaked,  and  proved  his  statement  wrong 
by  coughing  violently. 

Bud  set  down  the  cup  on  a  box,  laid  hold  of  Cash 
by  the  shoulders  and  forced  him  on  his  back.  With 
movements  roughly  gentle  he  opened  Cash's  clothing 
at  the  throat,  exposed  his  hairy  chest,  and  poured  on 
grease  until  it  ran  in  tiny  rivulets.  He  reached  in 
and  rubbed  the  grease  vigorously  with  the  palm  of 
his  hand,  giving  particular  attention  to  the  surface 
over  the  bronchial  tubes.  When  he  was  satisfied  that 
Cash's  skin  could  absorb  no  more,  he  turned  him  un 
ceremoniously  on  his  face  and  repeated  his  ministra 
tions  upon  Cash's  shoulders.  Then  he  rolled  him 
back,  buttoned  his  shirts  for  him,  and  tramped  heav 
ily  back  to  the  table. 

"  I  don't  mind  seeing  a  man  play  the  mule  when 
he's  well,"  he  grumbled,  "  but  he's  got  a  right  to  call 
it  a  day  when  he  gits  down  sick.  I  ain't  going  to 
be  bothered  burying  no  corpses,  in  weather  like  this. 
I'll  tell  the  world  I  ain't !  " 

He  went  searching  on  all  the  shelves  for  some 
thing  more  that  he  could  give  Cash.  He  found  a 
box  of  liver  pills,  a  bottle  of  Jamaica  ginger,  and 

224 


LOVIN  CHILD  WRIGGLES  IN 

some  iodine  —  not  an  encouraging  array  for  a  man 
fifteen  miles  of  untrodden  snow  from  the  nearest 
human  habitation.  He  took  three  of  the  liver  pills 
—  judging  them  by  size  rather  than  what  might  be 
their  composition  —  and  a  cup  of  water  to  Cash  and 
commanded  him  to  sit  up  and  swallow  them.  When 
this  was  accomplished,  Bud  felt  easier  as  to  his  con 
science,  though  he  was  still  anxious  over  the  possi 
bilities  in  that  cough. 

Twice  in  the  night  he  got  up  to  put  more  wood 
on  the  fire  and  to  stand  beside  Cash's  bed  and  listen 
to  his  breathing.  Pneumonia,  the  strong  man's 
deadly  foe,  was  what  he  feared.  In  his  cow-punch 
ing  days  he  had  seen  men  die  of  it  before  a  doctor 
could  be  brought  from  the  far-away  town.  Had  he 
been  alone  with  Cash,  he  would  have  fought  his  way 
to  town  and  brought  help,  but  with  Lovin  Child  to 
care  for  he  could  not  take  the  trail. 

At  daylight  Cash  woke  him  by  stumbling  across 
the  floor  to  the  water  bucket.  Bud  arose  then  and 
swore  at  him  for  a  fool  and  sent  him  back  to  bed, 
and  savagely  greased  him  again  with  the  bacon  grease 
and  turpentine.  He  was  cheered  a  little  when  Cash 

225 


CABIN  FEVER 

cussed  back,  but  lie  did  not  like  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  for  all  that,  and  so  threatened  mildly  to  brain 
him  if  he  got  out  of  bed  again  without  wrapping  a 
blanket  or  something  around  him. 

Thoroughly  awakened  by  this  little  exchange  of 
civilities,  Bud  started  a  fire  in  the  stove  and  made 
coffee  for  Cash,  who  drank  half  a  cup  quite  meekly. 
He  still  had  that  tearing  cough,  and  his  voice  was  no 
more  than  a  croak;  but  he  seemed  no  worse  than  he 
had  been  the  night  before.  So  on  the  whole  Bud 
considered  the  case  encouraging,  and  ate  his  break 
fast  an  hour  or  so  earlier  than  usual.  Then  he  went 
out  and  chopped  wood  until  he  heard  Lovin  Child 
chirping  inside  the  cabin  like  a  bug-hunting  meadow 
lark,  when  he  had  to  hurry  in  before  Lovin  Child 
crawled  off  the  bunk  and  got  into  some  mischief. 

For  a  man  who  was  wintering  in  what  is  called 
enforced  idleness  in  a  snow-bound  cabin  in  the  moun 
tains,  Bud  Moore  did  not  find  the  next  few  days  hang 
ing  heavily  on  his  hands.  Far  from  it. 


226 


CHAPTEE  EIGHTEEN 

THEY    HAVE   THEIR    TROUBLES 

TO  begin  with,  Lovin  Child  got  hold  of  Cash's 
tobacco  can  and  was  feeding  it  by  small  hand- 
fuls  to  the  flames,  when  Bud  caught  him.  He  yelled 
when  Bud  took  it  away,  and  bumped  his  head  on  the 
floor  and  yelled  again,  and  spatted  his  hands  to 
gether  and  yelled,  and  threw  himself  on  his  back 
and  kicked  and  yelled ;  while  Bud  towered  over  him 
and  yelled  expostulations  and  reprimands  and 
cajolery  that  did  not  cajole. 

Cash  turned  over  with  a  groan,  his  two  palms 
pressed  against  his  splitting  head,  and  hoarsely  com 
manded  the  two  to  shut  up  that  infernal  noise.  He 
was  a  sick  man.  He  was  a  very  sick  man,  and  he  had 
stood  the  limit. 

"  Shut  up  ?  "  Bud  shouted  above  the  din  of  Lovin 
Child.  "  Ain't  I  trying  to  shut  him  up,  for  gosh 
sake  ?  What  d'yuh  want  me  to  do  ?  —  let  him  throw 
all  the  tobacco  you  got  into  the  fi>e?  Here,  you 

227 


CABIN  FEVER 

young  imp,  quit  that,  before  I  spank  you!  Quick, 
now  —  we've  had  about  enough  outa  you !  You  lay 
down  there,  Cash,  and  quit  your  croaking.  You'll 
croak  right,  if  you  don't  keep  covered  up.  Hey, 
Boy!  My  jumpin'  yellow-jackets,  you'd  drown  a 
Klakon  till  you  couldn't  hear  it  ten  feet !  Cash,  you 
old  fool,  you  shut  up,  I  tell  yuh,  or  I'll  come  over 
there  and  shut  you  up !  I'll  tell  the  world  —  Boy ! 
Good  glory !  shut  up-p  !  " 

Cash  was  a  sick  man,  but  he  had  not  lost  all  his 
resourcefulness.  He  had  stopped  Lovin  Child  once, 
and  thereby  he  had  learned  a  little  of  the  infantile 
mind.  He  had  a  coyote  skin  on  the  foot  of  his  bed, 
and  he  raised  himself  up  and  reached  for  it  as  one 
reaches  for  a  fire  extinguisher.  Like  a  fire  extin 
guisher  he  aimed  it,  straight  in  the  middle  of  the 
uproar. 

Lovin  Child,  thumping  head  and  heels  regularly  on 
the  floor  and  punctuating  the  thumps  with  screeches, 
was  extinguished  —  suddenly,  completely  silenced  by 
the  muffling  fur  that  fell  from  the  sky,  so  far  as  he 
knew.  The  skin  covered  him  completely.  Not  a 
sound  came  from  under  it.  The  stillness  was  so 

228 


THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES 

absolute  that  Bud  was  scared,  and  so  was  Cash,  a 
little.  It  was  as  though  Lovin  Child,  possessed  of 
a  demon  one  instant,  was  in  the  next  instant  snuffed 
out  of  existence. 

"  What  yuh  done  ?  "  Bud  ejaculated,  rolling  wild 
eyes  at  Cash.  "  You  —" 

The  coyote  skin  rattled  a  little.  A  fluff  of  yel 
low,  a  spark  of  blue,  and  "  Pik-k  ? "  chirped  Lovin 
Child  from  under  the  edge,  and  ducked  back  again 
out  of  sight. 

Bud  sat  down  weakly  on  a  box  and  shook  his  head 
slowly  from  one  side  to  the  other.  "  You've  got  me 
going  south,"  he  made  solemn  confession  to  the  wob 
bling  skin  —  or  to  what  it  concealed.  "  I  throw  up 
my  hands,  I'll  tell  the  world  fair."  He  got  up  and 
went  over  and  sat  down  on  his  bunk,  and  rested  his 
hands  on  his  knees,  and  considered  the  problem  of 
Lovin  Child. 

"Here  I've  got  wood  to  cut  and  water  to  bring 
and  grub  to  cook,  and  I  can't  do  none  of  them  be 
cause  I've  got  to  ride  herd  on  you  every  minute. 
You've  got  my  goat,  kid,  and  that's  the  truth.  You 
sure  have.  Yes,  '  PiTc-lc,'  doggone  yuh — •  after  me 

229 


CABIN  FEVER 

going  crazy  with  yuh,  just  about,  and  thinking  you're 
about  to  blow  your  radiator  cap  plumb  up  through 
the  roof!  I'll  tell  yuh  right  here  and  now,  this 
storm  has  got  to  let  up  pretty  quick  so  I  can  pack 
you  outa  here,  or  else  I've  got  to  pen  you  up  some 
how,  so  I  can  do  something  besides  watch  you.  Look 
at  the  way  you  scattered  them  beans,  over  there  by 
the  cupboard!  By  rights  I  oughta  stand  over  yuh 
and  make  yuh  pick  every  one  of  7em  up!  and  who 
was  it  drug  all  the  ashes  outa  the  stove,  I'd  like  to 
know  ? " 

The  coyote  skin  lifted  a  little  and  moved  off  to 
ward  the  fireplace,  growling  "  Ooo-ooo-ooo !  "  like  a 
bear  —  almost.  Bud  rescued  the  bear  a  scant  two 
feet  from  the  flames,  and  carried  fur,  baby  and  all, 
to  the  bunk.  "  My  good  lord,  what's  a  fellow  going 
to  do  with  yuh  ?  "  he  groaned  in  desperation.  "  Burn 
yourself  up,  you  would !  I  can  see  now  why  folks 
keep  their  kids  corralled  in  high  chairs  and  gocarts 
all  the  time.  They  got  to,  or  they  wouldn't  have  no 
kids." 

Bud  certainly  was  learning  a  few  things  that  he 
had  come  near  to  skipping  altogether  in  his  curric- 

230 


THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES 

ulum  of  life.  Speaking  of  high  chairs,  whereof  he 
had  thought  little  enough  in  his  active  life,  set  him 
seriously  to  considering  ways  and  means.  Wein- 
stock-Lubin  had  high  chairs  listed  in  their  catalogue. 
Very  nice  high  chairs,  for  one  of  which  Bud  would 
have  paid  its  weight  in  gold  dust  (if  one  may  believe 
his  word)  if  it  could  have  been  set  down  in  that  cabin 
at  that  particular  moment.  He  studied  the  small 
cuts  of  the  chairs,  holding  Lovin  Child  off  the  page 
by  main  strength  the  while.  Wishing  one  out  of  the 
catalogue  and  into  the  room  being  impracticable,  he 
went  after  the  essential  features,  thinking  to  make 
one  that  would  answer  the  purpose. 

Accustomed  as  he  was  to  exercising  his  inventive 
faculty  in  overcoming  certain  obstacles  raised  by 
the  wilderness  in  the  path  of  comfort,  Bud  went  to 
work  with  what  tools  he  had,  and  with  the  material 
closest  to  his  hand.  Crude  tools  they  were,  and 
crude  materials  —  like  using  a  Stilson  wrench  to  ad 
just  a  carburetor,  he  told  Lovin  Child  who  tagged 
him  up  and  down  the  cabin.  An  axe,  a  big  jack- 
knife,  a  hammer  and  some  nails  left  over  from  build 
ing  their  sluice  boxes,  these  were  the  tools.  He  took 

231 


CABIN  FEVER 

the  axe  first,  and  having  tied  Lovin  Child  to  the  leg 
of  his  bunk  for  safety's  sake,  he  went  out  and  cut 
down  four  young  oaks  behind  the  cabin,  lopped  off 
the  branches  and  brought  them  in  for  chair  legs.  He 
emptied  a  dynamite  box  of  odds  and  ends,  scrubbed  it 
out  and  left  it  to  dry  while  he  mounted  the  four 
legs,  with  braces  of  the  green  oak  and  a  skeleton 
frame  on  top.  Then  he  knocked  one  end  out  of  the 
box,  padded  the  edges  of  the  box  with  burlap,  and  set 
Lovin  Child  in  his  new  high  chair. 

He  was  tempted  to  call  Cash's  attention  to  his 
handiwork,  but  Cash  was  too  sick  to  be  disturbed, 
even  if  the  atmosphere  between  them  had  been 
clear  enough  for  easy  converse.  So  he  stifled  the 
impulse  and  addressed  himself  to  Lovin  Child,  which 
did  just  as  well. 

Things  went  better  after  that.  Bud  could  tie  the 
baby  in  the  chair,  give  him  a  tin  cup  and  a  spoon  and 
a  bacon  rind,  and  go  out  to  the  woodpile  feeling  rea 
sonably  certain  that  the  house  would  not  be  set  afire 
during  his  absence.  He  could  cook  a  meal  in  peace, 
without  fear  of  stepping  on  the  baby.  And  Cash 
could  lie  as  close  as  he  liked  to  the  edge  of  the  bed 

232 


THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES 

without  running  the  risk  of  having  his  eyes  jabbed 
with  Lovin  Child's  finger,  or  something  slapped  un 
expectedly  in  his  face. 

He  needed  protection  from  slight  discomforts  while 
he  lay  there  eaten  with  fever,  hovering  so  close  to 
pneumonia  that  Bud  believed  he  really  had  it  and 
watched  over  him  nights  as  well  as  daytimes.  The 
care  he  gave  Cash  was  not,  perhaps,  such  as  the 
medical  profession  would  have  endorsed,  but  it  was 
faithful  and  it  made  for  comfort  and  so  aided  Na 
ture  more  than  it  hindered. 

Pair  weather  came,  and  days  of  melting  snow. 
But  they  served  only  to  increase  Bud's  activities  at 
the  woodpile  and  in  hunting  small  game  close  by, 
while  Lovin  Child  took  his  nap  and  Cash  was  drows 
ing.  Sometimes  he  would  bundle  the  baby  in  an 
extra  sweater  and  take  him  outside  and  let  him  wal 
low  in  the  snow  while  Bud  cut  wood  and  piled  it  on 
the  sheltered  side  of  the  cabin  wall,  a  reserve  sup 
ply  to  draw  on  in  an  emergency. 

It  may  have  been  the  wet  snow  —  more  likely  it 
was  the  cabin  air  filled  with  germs  of  cold.  What 
ever  it  was,  Lovin  Child  caught  cold  and  coughed 

233 


CABIN  FEVER 

croupy  all  one  night,  and  fretted  and  would  not  sleep. 
Bud  anointed  him  as  he  had  anointed  Cash,  and 
rocked  him  in  front  of  the  fire,  and  met  the  morning 
hollow-eyed  and  haggard.  A  great  fear  tore  at  his 
heart.  Cash  read  it  in  his  eyes,  in  the  tones  of  his 
voice  when  he  crooned  soothing  fragments  of  old 
range  songs  to  the  baby,  and  at  daylight  Cash  man 
aged  to  dress  himself  and  help;  though  what  assist 
ance  he  could  possibly  give  was  not  all  clear  to  him, 
until  he  saw  Bud's  glance  rove  anxiously  toward  the 
cook-stove. 

"  Hand  the  kid  over  here,"  Cash  said  huskily.  "  I 
can  hold  him  while  you  get  yourself  some  break 
fast." 

Bud  looked  at  him  stupidly,  hesitated,  looked 
down  at  the  flushed  little  face,  and  carefully  laid 
him  in  Cash's  outstretched  arms.  He  got  up  stiffly 
—  he  had  been  sitting  there  a  long  time,  while  the 
baby  slept  uneasily  —  and  went  on  his  tiptoes  to  make 
a  fire  in  the  stove. 

He  did  not  wonder  at  Cash's  sudden  interest,  his 
abrupt  change  from  moody  aloofness  to  his  old  part 
nership  in  trouble  as  well  as  in  good  fortune.  He 

234 


THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES 

knew  that  Cash  was  not  fit  for  the  task,  however,  and 
he  hurried  the  coffee  to  the  hoiling  point  that  he 
might  the  sooner  send  Cash  back  to  bed.  He  gulped 
down  a  cup  of  coffee  scalding  hot,  ate  a  few  mouth- 
fuls  of  bacon  and  bread,  and  brought  a  cup  back  to 
Cash. 

"  What  d'yuh  think  about  him  ? "  he  whispered, 
setting  the  coffee  down  on  a  box  so  that  he  could 
take  Lovin  Child.  "Pretty  sick  kid,  don't  yuh 
think?" 

"  It's  the  same  cold  I  got,"  Cash  breathed  huskily. 
"  Swallows  like  it's  his  throat,  mostly.  What  you 
doing  for  him  ?  " 

"Bacon  grease  and  turpentine,"  Bud  answered 
him  despondently.  "  I'll  have  to  commence  on  some 
thing  else,  though  —  turpentine's  played  out.  I  used 
it  most  all  up  on  you." 

"  Coal  oil's  good.  And  fry  up  a  mess  of  onions 
and  make  a  poultice."  He  put  up  a  shaking  hand 
before  his  mouth  and  coughed  behind  it,  stifling  the 
sound  all  he  could. 

Lovin  Child  threw  up  his  hands  and  whimpered, 
and  Bud  went  over  to  him  anxiously.  "  His  little 

235 


CABIN  FEVER 

hands  are  awful  hot,"  he  muttered.  "  He's  been  that 
way  all  night." 

Cash  did  not  answer.  There  did  not  seem  any 
thing  to  say  that  would  do  any  good.  He  drank  his 
coffee  and  eyed  the  two,  lifting  his  eyebrows  now 
and  then  at  some  new  thought. 

"Looks  like  you,  Bud,"  he  croaked  suddenly. 
"  Eyes,  expression,  mouth  —  you  could  pass  him  off 
as  your  own  kid,  if  you  wanted  to." 

"  I  might,  at  that,"  Bud  whispered  absently. 
"  I've  been  seeing  you  in  him,  though,  all  along.  He 
lifts  his  eyebrows  same  way  you  do." 

"Ain't  like  me,"  Cash  denied  weakly,  studying 
Lovin  Child.  "  Give  him  here  again,  and  you  go 
fry  them  onions.  I  would  —  if  I  had  the  strength 
to  get  around." 

"  "Well,  you  ain't  got  the  strength.  You  go  back 
to  bed,  and  I'll  lay  him  in  with  yuh.  I  guess  he'll 
lay  quiet.  He  likes  to  be  cuddled  up  close." 

In  this  way  was  the  feud  forgotten.  Save  for  the 
strange  habits  imposed  by  sickness  and  the  care  of  a 
baby,  they  dropped  back  into  their  old  routine,  their 
old  relationship.  They  walked  over  the  dead  line 

236 


THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES 

heedlessly,  forgetting  why  it  came  to  he  there.  Cahin 
fever  no  longer  tormented  them  with  its  magnifying 
of  little  things.  They  had  no  time  or  thought  for 
trifles;  a  higger  matter  than  their  own  petty  preju 
dices  concerned  them.  They  were  fighting  side  by 
side,  with  the  Old  Man  of  the  Scythe  —  the  Old  Man 
who  spares  not. 

Lovin  Child  was  pulling  farther  and  farther  away 
from  them.  They  knew  it,  they  felt  it  in  his  hot  little 
hands,  they  read  it  in  his  fever-bright  eyes.  But 
never  once  did  they  admit  it,  even  to  themselves. 
They  dared  not  weaken  their  efforts  with  any  ad 
missions  of  a  possible  defeat.  They  just  watched, 
and  fought  the  fever  as  best  they  could,  and  waited, 
and  kept  hope  alive  with  fresh  efforts. 

Cash  was  tottery  weak  from  his  own  illness,  and 
he  could  not  speak  above  a  whisper.  Yet  he  directed, 
and  helped  soothe  the  baby  with  baths  and  slow 
strokings  of  his  hot  forehead,  and  watched  him  while 
Bud  did  the  work,  and  worried  because  he  could 
not  do  more. 

They  did  not  know  when  Lovin  Child  took  a  turn 
for  the  better,  except  that  they  realized  the  fever 

237 


CABIN  FEVER 

was  broken.  But  his  listlessness,  the  unnatural 
drooping  of  his  whole  body,  scared  them  worse  than 
before.  Night  and  day  one  or  the  other  watched 
over  him,  trying  to  anticipate  every  need,  every  va 
grant  whim.  When  he  began  to  grow  exacting,  they 
were  still  worried,  though  they  were  too  fagged  to 
abase  themselves  before  him  as  much  as  they  would 
have  liked. 

Then  Bud  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  the  grippe 
before  Lovin  Child  had  passed  the  stage  of  wanting 
to  be  held  every  waking  minute.  Which  burdened 
Cash  with  extra  duties  long  before  he  was  fit. 

Christmas  came,  and  they  did  not  know  it  until 
the  day  was  half  gone,  when  Cash  happened  to  re 
member.  He  went  out  then  and  groped  in  the  snow 
and  found  a  little  spruce,  hacked  it  off  close  to  the 
drift  and  brought  it  in,  all  loaded  with  frozen  snow, 
to  dry  before  the  fire.  The  kid,  he  declared,  should 
have  a  Christmas  tree,  anyway.  He  tied  a  candle 
to  the  top,  and  a  rabbit  skin  to  the  bottom,  and  prunes 
to  the  tip  of  the  branches,  and  tried  to  rouse  a  little 
enthusiasm  in  Lovin  Child.  But  Lovin  Child  was 
not  interested  in  the  makeshift.  He  was  crying  be- 

238 


THEY  HAVE  THEIR  TROUBLES 

cause  Bud  had  told  him  to  keep  out  of  the  ashes,  and 
he  would  not  look. 

So  Cash  untied  the  candle  and  the  fur  and  the 
prunes,  threw  them  across  the  room,  and  peevishly 
stuck  the  tree  in  the  fireplace. 

"  Remember  what  you  said  ahout  the  Fourth  of 
July  down  in  Arizona,  Bud  ? "  he  asked  glumly. 
"  Well,  this  is  the  same  kind  of  Christmas." 

Bud  merely  grunted. 


239 


CHAPTEE  NINETEEN" 

BUD   FACES   FACTS 

NEW  YEAR  came  and  passed  and  won  nothing 
in  the  way  of  celebration  from  the  three  in 
Nelson's  cabin.  Bud's  bones  ached,  his  head  ached, 
the  flesh  on  his  body  ached.  He  could  take  no  com 
fort  anywhere,  under  any  circumstances.  He  craved 
clean  white  beds  and  soft-footed  attendance  and 
soothing  silence  and  cool  drinks  —  and  he  could  have 
none  of  those  things.  His  bedclothes  were  heavy 
upon  his  aching  limbs ;  he  had  to  wait  upon  his  own 
wants ;  the  fretful  crying  of  Lovin  Child  or  the  rack 
ing  cough  of  Cash  was  always  in  his  ears,  and  as  for 
cool  drinks,  there  was  ice  water  in  plenty,  to  be  sure, 
but  nothing  else. 

Pair  weather  came,  and  storms,  and  cold:  more 
storms  and  cold  than  fair  weather.  Neither  man 
ever  mentioned  taking  Lovin  Child  to  Alpine.  At 
first,  because  it  was  out  of  the  question;  after  that, 
because  they  did  not  want  to  mention  it.  They  fre- 

240 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

quentlj  declared  that  Lovin  Child  was  a  pest,  and 
there  were  times  when  Bud  spoke  darkly  of  spank 
ings  —  which  did  not  materialize.  But  though  they 
did  not  mention  it,  they  knew  that  Lovin  Child  was 
something  more;  something  endearing,  something 
humanizing,  something  they  needed  to  keep  them 
immune  from  cabin  fever. 

Some  time  in  February  it  was  that  Cash  fashioned 
a  crude  pair  of  snowshoes  and  went  to  town,  re 
turning  the  next  day.  He  came  home  loaded  with 
little  luxuries  for  Lovin  Child,  and  with  the  simpler 
medicines  for  other  emergencies  which  they  might 
have  to  meet,  but  he  did  not  bring  any  word  of  seek 
ing  parents.  The  nearest  he  came  to  mentioning  the 
subject  was  after  supper,  when  the  baby  was  asleep 
and  Bud  was  trying  to  cut  a  small  pair  of  overalls 
from  a  large  piece  of  blue  duck  that  Cash  had  brought. 
The  shears  were  dull,  and  Lovin  Child's  little  romp 
ers  were  so  patched  and  shapeless  that  they  were 
not  much  of  a  guide,  so  Bud  was  swearing  softly 
while  he  worked. 

"  I  didn't  hear  a  word  said  about  that  kid  being 
lost,"  Cash  volunteered,  after  he  had  smoked  and 

241 


CABIN  FEVER 

watched  Bud  awhile.     "  Couldn't  have  been  any  one 
around  Alpine,  or  I'd  have  heard  something  about  it." 

Bud  frowned,  though  it  may  have  been  over  his 
tailoring  problem. 

"  Can't  tell  —  the  old  squaw  mighta  been  telling 
the  truth,"  he  said  reluctantly.  "  I  s'pose  they  do, 
once  in  awhile.  She  said  his  folks  were  dead."  And 
he  added  defiantly,  with  a  quick  glance  at  Cash,  "  Far 
as  I'm  concerned,  I'm  willing  to  let  it  ride  that  way. 
The  kid's  doing  all  right." 

"  Yeah.  I  got  some  stuff  for  that  rash  on  his  chest. 
I  wouldn't  wonder  if  we  been  feeding  him  too  heavy 
on  bacon  rinds,  Bud.  They  say  too  much  of  that 
kinda  thing  is  bad  for  kids.  Still,  he  seems  to  feel 
all  right." 

"  I'll  tell  the  world  he  does !  He  got  hold  of  your 
old  pipe  to-day  and  was  suckin'  away  on  it,  I  don't 
know  how  long.  Never  feazed  him,  either.  If  he 
can  stand  that,  I  guess  he  ain't  very  delicate." 

"  Yeah.  I  laid  that  pipe  aside  myself  because  it 
was  getting  so  dang  strong.  Ain't  you  getting  them 
pants  too  long  in  the  seat,  Bud  ?  They  look  to  me 
big  enough  for  a  ten-year-old." 

242 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

"  I  guess  you  don't  realize  how  that  kid's  grow 
ing  !  "  Bud  defended  his  handiwork.  "  And  time 
I  get  the  seams  sewed,  and  the  side  lapped  over  for 
buttons  — " 

"  Yeah.  Where  you  going  to  get  the  buttons  ? 
You  never  sent  for  any." 

"  Oh,  I'll  find  buttons.  You  can  donate  a  couple 
off  some  of  your  clothes,  if  you  want  to  right  bad." 

"  Who  ?  Me  ?  I  ain't  got  enough  now  to  keep 
the  wind  out,"  Cash  protested.  "  Lemme  tell  yuh 
something,  Bud.  If  you  cut  more  saving,  you'd 
have  enough  cloth  there  for  two  pair  of  pants.  You 
don't  need  to  cut  the  legs  so  long  as  all  that.  They'll 
drag  on  the  ground  so  the  poor  kid  can't  walk  in  'em 
without  falling  all  over  himself." 

"  Well,  good  glory !  Who's  making  these  pants  ? 
Me,  or  you  ? "  Bud  exploded.  "  If  you  think  you 
can  do  any  better  job  than  what  I'm  doing,  go  get 
yourself  some  cloth  and  fly  at  it !  Don't  think  you 
can  come  hornin'  in  on  my  job,  'cause  I'll  tell  the 
world  right  out  loud,  you  can't." 

"Yeah  —  that's  right!  Go  to  bellerin'  around 
like  a  bull  buffalo,  and  wake  the  kid  up!  I  don't 

243 


CABIN  FEVER 

give  a  cuss  how  you  make'm.  Go  ahead  and  have 
the  seat  of  his  pants  hangin'  down  below  his  knees 
if  you  want  to!  "  Cash  got  up  and  moved  huffily 
over  to  the  fireplace  and  sat  with  his  hack  to  Bud. 

"Maybe  I  will,  at  that,"  Bud  retorted.  "You 
can't  come  around  and  crab  the  job  I'm  doing."  Bud 
was  jabbing  a  needle  eye  toward  the  end  of  a  thread 
too  coarse  for  it,  and  it  did  not  improve  his  temper 
to  have  the  thread  refuse  to  pass  through  the  eye. 

Neither  did  it  please  him  to  find,  when  all  the 
seams  were  sewn,  that  the  little  overalls  failed  to  look 
like  any  garment  he  had  ever  seen  on  a  child.  When 
he  tried  them  on  Lovin  Child,  next  day,  Cash  took 
one  look  and  bolted  from  the  cabin  with  his  hand 
over  his  mouth. 

When  he  came  back  an  hour  or  so  later,  Lovin 
Child  was  wearing  his  ragged  rompers,  and  Bud  was 
bent  over  a  Weinstock-Lubin  mail-order  cata 
logue.  He  had  a  sheet  of  paper  half  filled  with  items, 
and  was  licking  his  pencil  and  looking  for  more.  He 
looked  up  and  grinned  a  little,  and  asked  Cash  when 
he  was  going  to  town  again ;  and  added  that  he  wanted 
to  mail  a  letter. 

244 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

"  Yeah.  Well,  the  trail's  just  as  good  now  as  it 
was  when  I  took  it,"  Cash  hinted  strongly.  "  When 
I  go  to  town  again,  it'll  be  because  I've  got  to  go. 
And  far  as  I  can  see,  I  won't  have  to  go  for  quite 
some  time." 

So  Bud  rose  before  daylight  the  next  morning,  tied 
on  the  makeshift  snowshoes  Cash  had  contrived,  and 
made  the  fifteen-mile  trip  to  Alpine  and  back  before 
dark.  He  brought  candy  for  Lovin  Child,  tended 
that  young  gentleman  through  a  siege  of  indigestion 
because  of  the  indulgence,  and  waited  impatiently 
until  he  was  fairly  certain  that  the  wardrobe  he  had 
ordered  had  arrived  at  the  post-office.  When  he  had 
counted  off  the  two  days  required  for  a  round  trip 
to  Sacramento,  and  had  added  three  days  for  possi 
ble  delay  in  filling  the  order,  he  went  again,  and  re 
turned  in  one  of  the  worst  storms  of  the  winter. 

But  he  did  not  grudge  the  hardship,  for  he  carried 
on  his  back  a  bulky  bundle  of  clothes  for  Lovin  Child ; 
enough  to  last  the  winter  through,  and  some  to 
spare;  a  woman  would  have  laughed  at  some  of  the 
things  he  chose:  impractical,  dainty  garments  that 
Bud  could  not  launder  properly  to  save  his  life.  But 

245 


CABIN  FEVER 

there  were  little  really  truly  overalls,  in  which  Lovin 
Child  promptly  developed  a  strut  that  delighted  the 
men  and  earned  him  the  title  of  Old  Prospector. 
And  there  were  little  shirts  and  stockings  and  night 
gowns  and  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  a  toy  or  two  that 
failed  to  interest  him  at  all,  after  the  first  inspec 
tion. 

It  began  to  look  as  though  Bud  had  deliberately 
resolved  upon  carrying  a  guilty  conscience  all  the 
rest  of  his  life.  He  had  made  absolutely  no  effort 
to  trace  the  parents  of  Lovin  Child  when  he  was  in 
town.  On  the  contrary  he  had  avoided  all  casual 
conversation,  for  fear  some  one  might  mention  the 
fact  that  a  child  had  been  lost.  He  had  been  careful 
not  to  buy  anything  in  the  town  that  would  lead  one 
to  suspect  that  he  had  a  child  concealed  upon  his 
premises,  and  he  had  even  furnished  what  he  called 
an  alibi  when  he  bought  the  candy,  professing  to  own 
an  inordinately  sweet  tooth. 

Cash  cast  his  eyes  over  the  stock  of  baby  clothes 
which  Bud  gleefully  unwrapped  on  his  bunk,  and 
pinched  out  a  smile  under  his  beard. 

"  Well,  if  the  kid  stays  till  he  wears  out  all  them 
246 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

clothes,  we'll  just  about  have  to  give  him  a  share  in 
the  company/'  he  said  drily. 

Bud  looked  up  in  quick  jealousy.  "  What's  mine's 
his,  and  I  own  a  half  interest  in  both  claims.  I  guess 
that'll  feed  him  —  if  they  pan  out  anything,"  he  re 
torted.  "  Come  here,  Boy,  and  let's  try  this  suit 
on.  Looks  pretty  small  to  me  —  marked  three  year, 
but  I  reckon  they  don't  grow  'em  as  husky  as  you, 
back  where  they  make  all  these  clothes." 

"  Yeah.  But  you  ought  to  put  it  in  writing,  Bud. 
S'pose  anything  happened  to  us  both  —  and  it  might. 
Mining's  always  got  its  risky  side,  even  cutting  out 
sickness,  which  we've  had  a  big  sample  of  right  this 
winter.  Well,  the  kid  oughta  have  some  security  in 
case  anything  did  happen.  Now  — " 

Bud  looked  thoughtfully  down  at  the  fuzzy  yellow 
head  that  did  not  come  much  above  his  knee. 

"  Well,  how  yuh  going  to  do  anything  like  that 
without  giving  it  away  that  we've  got  him?  Be 
sides,  what  name'd  we  give  him  in  the  company? 
No,  sir,  Cash,  he  gets  what  I've  got,  and  I'll  smash 
any  damn  man  that  tries  to  get  it  away  from  him. 
But  we  can't  get  out  any  legal  papers  — " 

247 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  Yeah.  But  we  can  make  our  wills,  can't  we  ? 
And  I  don't  know  where  you  get  the  idea,  Bud,  that 
you've  got  the  whole  say  about  him.  We're  pardners, 
ain't  we  ?  Share  and  share  alike.  Mines,  mules, 
grub  —  kids  —  equal  shares  goes." 

"  That's  where  you're  dead  wrong.  Mines  and 
mules  and  grub  is  all  right,  but  when  it  comes  to  this 
old  Lovin  Man,  why  —  who  was  it  found  him,  for 
gosh  sake  ? " 

"  Aw,  git  out ! "  Cash  growled.  "  Don't  you 
reckon  I'd  have  grabbed  him  off  that  squaw  as  quick 
as  you  did  ?  IVe  humored  you  along,  Bud,  and  let 
you  hog  him  nights,  and  feed  him  and  wash  his 
clothes,  and  I  ain't  kicked  none,  have  I  ?  But  when 
it  comes  to  prope'ty — " 

"  You  ain't  goin'  to  horn  in  there,  neither.  Any 
way,  we  ain't  got  so  darn  much  the  kid'll  miss  your 
share,  Cash." 

"  Yeah.  All  the  more  reason  why  he'll  need  it. 
I  don't  see  how  you're  going  to  stop  me  from  willing 
my  share  where  I  please.  And  when  you  come  down 
to  facts,  Bud,  why  —  you  want  to  recollect  that  I 
plumb  forgot  to  report  that  kid,  when  I  was  in  town. 

248 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

And  I  ain't  a  doubt  in  the  world  but  what  his  folks 
would  be  glad  enough  — " 

"  Forget  that  stuff !  "  Bud's  tone  was  so  sharp 
that  Lovin  Child  turned  clear  around  to  look  up 
curiously  into  his  face.  "  You  know  why  you  never 
reported  him,  doggone  yuh !  You  couldn't  give  him 
up  no  easier  than  I  could.  And  I'll  tell  the  world 
to  its  face  that  if  anybody  gets  this  kid  now  they've 
pretty  near  got  to  fight  for  him.  It  ain't  right,  and 
it  ain't  honest.  It's  stealing  to  keep  him,  and  I  never 
stole  a  brass  tack  in  my  life  before.  But  he's  mine 
as  long  as  I  live  and  can  hang  on  to  him.  And  that's 
where  I  stand.  I  ain't  hidin'  behind  no  kind  of 
alibi.  The  old  squaw  did  tell  me  his  folks  was  dead ; 
but  if  you'd  ask  me,  I'd  say  she  was  lying  when  she 
said  it.  Chances  are  she  stole  him.  I'm  sorry  for 
his  folks,  supposing  he's  got  any.  But  I  ain't  sorry 
enough  for  ?em  to  give  him  up  if  I  can  help  it.  I 
hope  they've  got  more,  and  I  hope  they've  gentled 
down  by  this  time  and  are  used  to  being  without  him. 
Anyway,  they  can  do  without  him  now  easier  than 
what  I  can,  because  .  .  ."  Bud  did  not  finish  that 
sentence,  except  by  picking  Lovin  Child  up  in  his 

249 


CABIN  FEVER 

arms  and  squeezing  him  as  hard  as  he  dared.  He 
laid  his  face  down  for  a  minute  on  Lovin  Child's 
head,  and  when  he  raised  it  his  lashes  were  wet. 

"  Say,  old-timer,  you  need  a  hair  cut.  Yuh  know 
it  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  huskiness  in  his  voice,  and  pulled 
a  tangle  playfully.  Then  his  eyes  swung  round  de 
fiantly  to  Cash.  "  It's  stealing  to  keep  him,  but  I 
can't  help  it.  I'd  rather  die  right  here  in  my  tracks 
than  give  up  this  little  ole  kid.  And  you  can  take 
that  as  it  lays,  because  I  mean  it." 

Cash  sat  quiet  for  a  minute  or  two,  staring  down 
at  the  floor.  "  Yeah.  I  guess  there's  two  of  us  in 
that  fix,"  he  observed  in  his  dry  way,  lifting  his  eye 
brows  while  he  studied  a  broken  place  in  the  side  of 
his  overshoe.  "  All  the  more  reason  why  we  should 
protect  the  kid,  ain't  it?  My  idea  is  that  we  ought 
to  both  of  us  make  our  wills  right  here  and  now. 
Each  of  us  to  name  the  other  for  guardeen,  in  case  of 
accident,  and  each  one  picking  a  name  for  the  kid,  and 
giving  him  our  share  in  the  claims  and  anything 
else  we  may  happen  to  own."  He  stopped  abruptly, 
his  jaw  sagging  a  little  at  some  unpleasant  thought. 

"  I  don't  know  —  come  to  think  of  it,  I* can't  just 
250 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

leave  the  kid  all  my  property.  I  —  I've  got  a  kid  of 
my  own,  and  if  she's  alive  —  I  ain't  heard  anything 
of  her  for  fifteen  years  and  more,  but  if  she's  alive 
she'd  come  in  for  a  share.  She's  a  woman  grown 
by  this  time.  Her  mother  died  when  she  was  a 
baby.  I  married  the  woman  I  hired  to  take  care  of 
her  and  the  house  —  like  a  fool.  When  we  parted, 
she  took  the  kid  with  her.  She  did  think  a  lot  of 
her,  I'll  say  that  much  for  her,  and  that's  all  I  can 
say  in  her  favor.  I  drifted  around  and  lost  track 
of  'em.  Old  woman,  she  married  again,  and  I  heard 
that  didn't  pan  out,  neither.  Anyway,  she  kept  the 
girl,  and  gave  her  the  care  and  schooling  that  I 
couldn't  give.  I  was  a  drifter. 

"  Well,  she  can  bust  the  will  if  I  leave  her  out, 
yuh  see.  And  if  the  old  woman  gets  a  finger  in  the 
pie,  it'll  be  busted,  all  right.  I  can  write  her  down 
for  a  hundred  dollars  perviding  she  don't  contest. 
That'll  fix  it.  And  the  rest  goes  to  the  kid  here. 
But  I  want  him  to  have  the  use  of  my  name,  under 
stand.  Something-or-other  Markham  Moore  ought  to 
suit  all  hands  well  enough." 

Bud,  holding  Lovin  Child  on  his  knees,  frowned 
251 


CABIN  FEVER 

a  little  at  first.  But  when  lie  looked  at  Cash,  and 
caught  the  wistfulness  in  his  eyes,  he  surrendered 
warm-heartedly. 

"  A  couple  of  old  he-hens  like  us  —  we  need  a 
chick  to  look  after/'  he  said  whimsically.  "  I  guess 
Markham  Moore  ought  to  he  good  enough  for  most 
any  kid.  And  if  it  ain't,  by  gosh,  we'll  make  it  good 
enough!  If  I  ain't  been  all  I  should  be,  there's  no 
law  against  straightening  up.  Markham  Moore  goes 
as  it  lays  —  hey,  Lovins  ?  "  But  Lovin  Child  had 
gone  to  sleep  over  his  foster  fathers'  disposal  of  his 
future.  His  little  yellow  head  was  wabbling  on  his 
limp  neck,  and  Bud  cradled  him  in  his  arms  and 
held  him  so. 

"  Yeah.  But  what  are  we  going  to  call  him  ? " 
Methodical  Cash  wanted  the  whole  matter  settled  at 
one  conference,  it  seemed. 

"  Call  him  ?  Why,  whatVe  we  been  calling  him, 
the  last  two  months  ?  " 

"  That,"  Cash  retorted,  "  depended  on  what  devil 
ment  he  was  into  when  we  called !  " 

"  You  said  it  all,  that  time.  I  guess,  come  to 
think  of  it  —  tell  you  what,  Cash,  let's  call  him  what 

252 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

the  kid  calls  himself.  That's  fair  enough.  He's  got 
some  say  in  the  matter,  and  if  he's  satisfied  with 
Lovin,  we  oughta  be.  Lovin  Markam  Moore  ain't 
half  bad.  Then  if  he  wants  to  change  it  when  he 
grows  up,  he  can." 

"  Yeah.  I  guess  that's  as  good  as  anything.  I'd 
hate  to  see  him  named  Cassius.  Well,  now's  as  good 
a  time  as  any  to  make  them  wills,  Bud.  We  oughta 
have  a  couple  of  witnesses,  but  we  can  act  for  each 
other,  and  I  guess  it'll  pass.  You  lay  the  kid  down, 
and  we'll  write  ?em  and  have  it  done  with  and  off  our 
minds.  I  dunno  —  I've  got  a  couple  of  lots  in 
Phoenix  I'll  leave  to  the  girl.  By  rights  she  should 
have  'em.  Levins,  here,  '11  have  my  share  in  all  min 
ing  claims ;  these  two  I'll  name  'specially,  because  I 
expect  them  to  develop  into  paying  mines ;  the  Blind 
Ledge,  anyway." 

A  twinge  of  jealousy  seized  Bud.  Cash  was  going 
ahead  a  little  too  confidently  in  his  plans  for  the  kid. 
He  did  not  want  to  hurt  old  Cash's  feelings,  and  of 
course  he  needed  Cash's  assistance  if  he  kept  Lovin 
Child  for  his  own.  But  Cash  needn't  think  he  was 
going  to  claim  the  kid  himself. 

253 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  All  right  —  put  it  that  way.  Only,  when  you're 
writing  it  down,  you  make  it  read  '  child  of  Bud 
Moore '  or  something  like  that.  You  can  will  him 
the  moon,  if  you  want,  and  you  can  have  your  name 
sandwiched  in  between  his  and  mine.  But  get  this, 
and  get  it  right.  He's  mine,  and  if  we  ever  split 
up,  the  kid  goes  with  me.  I'll  tell  the  world  right 
now  that  this  kid  belongs  to  me,  and  where  I  go  he 
goes.  You  get  that  ?  " 

"  You  don't  have  to  beller  at  the  top  of  your  voice, 
do  yuh  ?  "  snapped  Cash,  prying  the  cork  out  of  the 
ink  bottle  with  his  jackknife.  "  Here's  another  pen 
point.  Tie  it  onto  a  stick  or  something  and  git  to 
work  before  you  git  to  putting  it  off." 

Leaning  over  the  table  facing  each  other,  they 
wrote  steadily  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  Bud  began 
to  flag,  and  finally  he  stopped  and  crumpled  the  sheet 
of  tablet  paper  into  a  ball.  Cash  looked  up,  lifted 
his  eyebrows  irritatedly,  and  went  on  with  his  com 
position. 

Bud  sat  nibbling  the  end  of  his  makeshift  pen 
holder.  The  obstacle  that  had  loomed  in  Cash's  way 
and  had  constrained  him  to  reveal  the  closed  pages  of 

254 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

his  life,  loomed  large  in  Bud's  way  also.  Lovin 
Child  was  a  near  and  a  very  dear  factor  in  his  life  — 
hut  when  it  came  to  sitting  down  calmly  and  setting 
his  affairs  in  order  for  those  who  might  he  left  he- 
hind,  Lovin  Child  was  not  the  only  person  he  must 
think  of.  What  of  his  own  man-child?  What  of 
Marie  ? 

He  looked  across  at  Cash  writing  steadily  in  his 
precise  way,  duly  bequeathing  his  worldly  goods  to 
Lovin;  owning,  too,  his  responsibilities  in  another 
direction,  but  still  making  Lovin  Child  his  chief 
heir  so  far  as  he  knew.  On  the  spur  of  the  moment 
Bud  had  thought  to  do  the  same  thing.  But  could 
he  do  it  ? 

He  seemed  to  see  his  own  baby  standing  wistfully 
aloof,  pushed  out  of  his  life  that  this  baby  he  had  no 
right  to  keep  might  have  all  of  his  affections,  all  of 
his  poor  estate.  And  Marie,  whose  face  was  always 
in  the  back  of  his  memory,  a  tearful,  accusing  vision 
that  would  not  let  him  be  —  he  saw  Marie  working 
in  some  office,  earning  the  money  to  feed  and  clothe 
their  child.  And  Lovin  Child  romping  up  and  down 
the  cabin,  cuddled  and  scolded  and  cared  for  as  best 

255 


CABIN  FEVER 

an  awkward  man  may  care  for  a  baby  —  a  small,  in 
nocent  usurper. 

Bud  dropped  his  face  in  his  palms  and  tried  to 
think  the  thing  out  coldly,  clearly,  as  Cash  had  stated 
his  own  case.  Cash  did  not  know  where  his  own 
child  was,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  care  greatly.  He 
was  glad  to  salve  his  conscience  with  a  small  bequest, 
keeping  the  bulk  —  if  so  tenuous  a  thing  as  Cash's 
fortune  may  be  said  to  have  bulk  —  for  this  baby  they 
two  were  hiding  away  from  its  lawful  parents.  Cash 
could  do  it;  why  couldn't  he?  He  raised  his  head 
and  looked  over  at  Lovin  Child,  asleep  in  his  new 
and  rumpled  little  finery.  Why  did  his  own  baby 
come  between  them  now,  and  withhold  his  hand  from 
doing  the  same  ? 

Cash  finished,  glanced  curiously  across  at  Bud, 
looked  down  at  what  he  had  written,  and  slid  the 
sheet  of  paper  across. 

"  You  sign  it,  and  then  if  you  don't  know  just 
how  to  word  yours,  you  can  use  this  for  a  pattern. 
I've  read  law  books  enough  to  know  this  will  get  by, 
all  right.  It's  plain,  and  it  tells  what  I  want,  and 
that's  sufficient  to  hold  in  court." 

256 


BUD  FACES  FACTS 

Bud  read  it  over  apathetically,  signed  his  name  as 
witness,  and  pushed  the  paper  back. 

"  That's  all  right  for  you,"  he  said  heavily. 
"  Your  kid  is  grown  up  now,  and  besides,  you've  got 
other  property  to  give  her.  But  —  it's  different  with 
me.  I  want  this  baby,  and  I  can't  do  without  him. 
But  I  can't  give  him  my  share  in  the  claims,  Cash. 
I  —  there's  others  that's  got  to  be  thought  of  first." 


257 


CHAPTEE  TWENTY 

LOVIN"    CHILD    STEIKES    IT    EICII 

IT  was  only  the  next  day  that  Bud  was  the  means 
of  helping  Lovin  Child  find  a  fortune  for  him 
self ;  which  eased  Bud's  mind  considerably,  and  bal 
anced  better  his  half  of  the  responsibility.  Cutting 
out  the  dramatic  frills,  then,  this  is  what  happened  to 
Lovin  Child  and  Bud : 

They  were  romping  around  the  cabin,  like  two 
puppies  that  had  a  surplus  of  energy  to  work  off. 
Part  of  the  time  Lovin  Child  was  a  bear,  chasing- 
Bud  up  and  down  the  dead  line,  which  was  getting 
pretty  well  worn  out  in  places.  After  that,  Bud  was 
a  bear  and  chased  Lovin.  And  when  Lovin  Child  got 
so  tickled  he  was  perfectly  helpless  in  the  corner 
where  he  had  sought  refuge,  Bud  caught  him  and 
swung  him  up  to  his  shoulder  and  let  him  grab  hand- 
fuls  of  dirt  out  of  the  roof. 

Lovin  Child  liked  that  better  than  being  a  bear, 
and  sifted  Bud's  hair  full  of  dried  mud,  and  threw 

258 


LOVIN  CHILD  STRIKES  IT  RICH 

the  rest  on  the  floor,  and  frequently  cried  "  Tell 
a  worl' ! "  which  he  had  learned  from  Bud  and 
could  say  with  the  uncanny  pertinency  of  a  par 
rot. 

He  had  signified  a  desire  to  have  Bud  carry  him 
along  the  wall,  where  some  lovely  lumps  of  dirt  pro 
truded  temptingly  over  a  bulging  log.  Then  he 
leaned  and  grabbed  with  his  two  fat  hands  at  a 
particularly  big,  hard  lump.  It  came  away  in  his 
hands  and  fell  plump  on  the  blankets  of  the  bunk, 
half  blinding  Bud  with  the  dust  that  came  with 
it. 

"Hey!  You'll  have  all  the  chinkin7  out  of  the 
dang  shack,  if  you  let  him  keep  that  lick  up,  Bud," 
Cash  grumbled,  lifting  his  eyebrows  at  the  mess. 

"  Tell  a  worl? !  "  Lovin  Child  retorted  over  his 
shoulder,  and  made  another  grab. 

This  time  the  thing  he  held  resisted  his  baby 
strength.  He  pulled  and  he  grunted,  he  kicked  Bud 
in  the  chest  and  grabbed  again.  Bud  was  patient, 
and  let  him  fuss  —  though  in  self-defense  he  kept 
his  head  down  and  his  eyes  away  from  the  expected 
dust  bath. 

259 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  Stay  with  it,  Boy ;  pull  the  darn  roof  down,  if 
yah  want.  Cash'll  get  out  and  chink  'er  up  again." 

"  Yeah.  Cash  will  not,"  the  disapproving  one 
amended  the  statement  gruffly.  "  He's  trying  to  get 
the  log  outa  the  wall,  Bud." 

"  Well,  let  him  try,  doggone  it.  Shows  he's  a 
stayer.  I  wouldn't  have  any  use  for  him  if  he  didn't 
have  gumption  enough  to  tackle  things  too  big  for 
him,  and  you  wouldn't  either.  Stay  with  'er, 
Lovins !  Doggone  it,  can't  yuh  git  that  log  outa  there 
nohow?  Uh-h!  A  big  old  grunt  and  a  big  old 
heave  —  uh-h!  I'll  tell  the  world  in  words  uh  one 
syllable,  he's  some  stayer." 

"  Tell  a  worl' !  "  chuckled  Lovin  Child,  and  pulled 
harder  at  the  thing  he  wanted. 

"Hey!  The  kid's  got  hold  of  a  piece  of  gunny 
sack  or  something.  You  look  out,  Bud,  or  he'll  have 
all  that  chinkin'  out.  There's  no  sense  in  lettin'  him 
tear  the  whole  blame  shack  to  pieces,  is  there  ?  " 

"  Can  if  he  wants  to.  It's  his  shack  as  much  as  it's 
anybody's."  Bud  shifted  Lovin  Child  more  com 
fortably  on  his  shoulder  and  looked  up,  squinting  his 
eyes  half  shut  for  fear  of  dirt  in  them. 

260 


LOVIN  CHILD  STRIKES  IT  RICH 

"  F'r  the  love  of  Mike,  kid,  what's  that  you've  got  ? 
Looks  to  me  like  a  piece  of  buckskin,  Cash.  Here, 
you  set  down  a  minute,  and  let  Bud  take  a  peek  up 
there." 

"Bud  — pik-k?"  chirped  Lovin  Child  from  the 
blankets,  where  Bud  had  deposited  him  unceremon 
iously. 

"  Yes,  Bud  pik-k."  Bud  stepped  up  on  the  bunk, 
which  brought  his  head  above  the  low  eaves.  He 
leaned  and  looked,  and  scraped  away  the  caked  mud. 
"  Good  glory !  The  kid's  found  a  cache  of  some 
kind,  sure  as  you  live !  "  And  he  began  to  claw  out 
what  had  been  hidden  behind  the  mud. 

First  a  buckskin  bag,  heavy  and  grimed  and 
knobby.  Gold  inside  it,  he  knew  without  looking. 
He  dropped  it  down  on  the  bunk,  carefully  so  as  not 
to  smash  a  toe  off  the  baby.  After  that  he  pulled  out 
four  baking-powder  cans,  all  heavy  as  lead.  He  laid 
his  cheek  against  the  log  and  peered  down  the  length 
of  it,  and  jumped  down  beside  the  bunk. 

"  Kid's  found  a  gold  mine  of  his  own,  and  I'll  bet 
on  it,"  he  cried  excitedly.  "  Looky,  Cash !  " 

Cash  was  already  looking,  his  eyebrows  arched  high 
261 


CABIN  FEVER 

to  match  his  astonishment.  "  Yeah.  It's  gold,  all 
right.  Old  man  Nelson's  hoard,  I  wouldn't  wonder. 
I've  always  thought  it  was  funny  he  never  found  any 
gold  in  this  flat,  long  as  he  lived  here.  And  traces 
of  washing  here  and  there,  too.  Well !  " 

"  Looky,  Boy !  "  Bud  had  the  top  off  a  can,  and 
took  out  a  couple  of  nuggets  the  size  of  a  cooked  Lima 
bean.  "  Here's  the  real  stuff  for  yuh. 

"  It's  yours,  too  —  unless  —  did  old  Nelson  leave 
any  folks,  Cash,  do  yuh  know  ?  " 

"  They  say  not.  The  county  buried  him,  they  say. 
And  nobody  ever  turned  up  to  claim  him  or  what 
little  he  left.  No,  I  guess  there's  nobody  got  any 
better  right  to  it  than  the  kid.  We'll  inquire  around 
and  see.  But  seein'  the  gold  is  found  on  the  claim, 
and  we've  got  the  claim  according  to  law,  looks  to 
me  like  — " 

"  Well,  here's  your  clean-up,  old  prospector. 
Don't  swallow  any,  is  all.  Let's  weigh  it  out,  Cash, 
and  see  how  much  it  is,  just  for  a  josh." 

Lovin  Child  had  nuggets  to  play  with  there  on  the 
bed,  and  told  the  world  many  unintelligible  things 
about  it.  Cash  and  Bud  dumped  all  the  gold  into  a 

262 


LOVIN  CHILD  STRIKES  IT  RICH 

pan,  and  weighed  it  out  on  the  little  scales  Cash  had 
for  his  tests.  It  was  not  a  fortune,  as  fortunes  go. 
It  was  probably  all  the  gold  Nelson  had  panned  out 
in  a  couple  of  years,  working  alone  and  with  crude 
devices.  A  little  over  twenty-three  hundred  dollars 
it  amounted  to,  not  counting  the  nuggets  which  Lovin 
Child  had  on  the  bunk  with  him. 

"  Well,  it's  a  start  for  the  kid,  anyway,"  Bud  said, 
leaning  back  and  regarding  the  heap  with  eyes  shin 
ing.  "  I  helped  him  find  it,  and  I  kinda  feel  as  if 
I'm  square  with  him  now  for  not  giving  him  my  half 
the  claim.  Twenty-three  hundred  would  be  a  good 
price  for  a  half  interest,  as  the  claims  stand,  don't 
yuh  think,  Cash  ?  " 

"  Yeah  —  well,  I  dunno's  I'd  sell  for  that.  But 
on  the  showing  we've  got  so  far  —  yes,  five  thousand, 
say,  for  the  claims  would  be  good  money." 

"Pretty  good  haul  for  a  kid,  anyway.  He's  got 
a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  in  nuggets,  right  there 
on  the  bunk.  Let's  see,  Lovins.  Let  Bud  have  'em 
for  a  minute." 

Then  it  was  that  Lovin  Child  revealed  a  primitive 
human  trait.  He  would  not  give  up  the  gold.  He 

263 


CABIN  FEVER 

held  fast  to  one  big  nugget,  spread  his  fat  legs  over 
the  remaining  heap  of  them,  and  fought  Bud's  hand 
away  with  the  other  fist. 

"  No,  no,  no !  Tell  a  worl7  no,  no,  no !  "  he  re 
monstrated  vehemently,  until  Bud  whooped  with 
laughter. 

"  All  right  —  all  right !  Keep  your  gold,  durn  it. 
You're  like  all  the  rest  —  minute  you  get  your  paws 
on  to  some  of  the  real  stuff,  you  go  hog-wild  over 
it." 

Cash  was  pouring  the  fine  gold  back  into  the  buck 
skin  bag  and  the  baking-powder  cans. 

"Let  the  kid  play  with  it,"  he  said.  "Getting 
used  to  gold  when  he's  little  will  maybe  save  him 
from  a  lot  of  foolishness  over  it  when  he  gets  big.  I 
dunno,  but  it  looks  reasonable  to  me.  Let  him  have 
a  few  nuggets  if  he  wants.  Familiarity  breeds  con 
tempt,  they  say ;  maybe  he  won't  get  to  thinkin'  too 
much  of  it  if  he's  got  it  around  under  his  nose  all 
the  time.  Same  as  everything  else.  It's  the  finding 
that  hits  a  feller  hardest,  Bud  —  the  hunting  for  it 
and  dreaming  about  it  and  not  finding  it.  What  say 
we  go  up  to  the  claim  for  an  hour  or  so  ?  Take  the 

264 


LOVIN  CHILD  STRIKES  IT  RICH 

kid  along.  It  won't  hurt  him  if  he's  bundled  up 
good.  It  ain't  cold  to-day,  anyhow." 

That  night  they  discussed  soberly  the  prospects  of 
the  claim  and  their  responsibilities  in  the  matter  of 
Lovin  Child's  windfall.  They  would  quietly  investi 
gate  the  history  of  old  Nelson,  who  had  died  a  pauper 
in  the  eyes  of  the  community,  with  all  his  gleanings 
of  gold  hidden  away.  They  agreed  that  Lovin  Child 
should  not  start  off  with  one  grain  of  gold  that  right 
fully  belonged  to  some  one  else  —  but  they  agreed  the 
more  cheerfully  because  neither  man  believed  they 
would  find  any  close  relatives ;  a  wife  or  children  they 
decided  upon  as  rightful  heirs.  Brothers,  sisters, 
cousins,  and  aunts  did  not  count.  They  were  pre 
sumably  able  to  look  after  themselves  just  as  old 
Nelson  had  done.  Their  ethics  were  simple  enough, 
surely. 

Barring,  then,  the  discovery  of  rightful  heirs,  their 
plan  was  to  take«the  gold  to  Sacramento  in  the  spring, 
and  deposit  it  there  in  a  savings  bank  for  one  Lovins 
Markham  Moore.  They  would  let  the  interest 
"  ride  "  with  the  principal,  and  they  would  —  though 
neither  openly  confessed  it  to  the  other  —  from  time 

265 


CABIN  FEVER 

to  time  add  a  little  from  their  own  earnings.  Bud 
especially  looked  forward  to  that  as  a  compromise 
with  his  duty  to  his  own  child.  He  intended  to  save 
every  cent  he  could,  and  to  start  a  savings  account  in 
the  same  bank,  for  his  own  baby,  Eobert  Edward 
Moore  —  named  for  Bud.  He  could  not  start  off 
with  as  large  a  sum  as  Lovins  would  have,  and  for 
that  Bud  was  honestly  sorry.  But  Eobert  Edward 
Moore  would  have  Bud's  share  in  the  claims,  which 
would  do  a  little  toward  evening  things  up. 

Having  settled  these  things  to  the  satisfaction  of 
their  desires  and  their  consciences,  they  went  to  bed 
well  pleased  with  the  day. 


266 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 


MAKIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 


T  "K  TE  all  realize  keenly,  one  time  or  another,  the 
*  »  abject  poverty  of  language.  To  attempt  put 
ting  some  emotions  into  words  is  like  trying  to  play 
Ave  Maria  on  a  toy  piano.  There  are  heights  and 
depths  utterly  beyond  the  limitation  of  instrument 
and  speech  alike. 

Marie's  agonized  experience  in  Alpine  —  and  aft 
erward  —  was  of  that  kind.  She  went  there  under 
the  lure  of  her  loneliness,  her  heart-hunger  for  Bud. 
Drunk  or  sober,  loving  her  still  or  turning  away  in 
anger,  she  had  to  see  him;  had  to  hear  him  speak; 
had  to  tell  him  a  little  of  what  she  felt  of  penitence 
and  longing.  Or  that  is  what  she  believed  she  had 
to  do.  Once  she  had  started,  she  could  not  turn 
back.  Come  what  might,  she  would  hunt  until  she 
found  him.  She  had  to,  or  go  crazy,  she  told  her 
self  over  and  over.  She  could  not  imagine  any  cir- 

267 


CABIN  FEVER 

cumstance  that  would  turn  her  back  from  that  quest. 

Yet  she  did  turn  back  —  and  with  scarce  a  thought 
of  Bud.  She  could  not  imagine  the  thing  happen 
ing  that  did  happen,  which  is  the  way  life  has  of 
keeping  us  all  on  the  anxious  seat  most  of  the  time. 
She  could  not  —  at  least  she  did  not  —  dream  that 
Lovin  Child,  at  once  her  comfort  and  her  strongest 
argument  for  a  new  chance  at  happiness,  would  in  ten 
minutes  or  so  wipe  out  all  thought  of  Bud  and  leave 
only  a  dumb,  dreadful  agony  that  hounded  her  day 
and  night. 

She  had  reached  Alpine  early  in  the  forenoon,  and 
had  gone  to  the  one  little  hotel,  to  rest  and  gather 
up  her  courage  for  the  search  which  she  felt  was  only 
beginning.  She  had  been  too  careful  of  her  money 
to  spend  any  for  a  sleeper,  foregoing  even  a  berth 
in  the  tourist  car.  She  could  make  Lovin  Child  com 
fortable  with  a  full  seat  in  the  day  coach  for  his  little 
bed,  and  for  herself  it  did  not  matter.  She  could 
not  sleep  anyway.  So  she  sat  up  all  night  and 
thought,  and  worried  over  the  future,  which  was  fool 
ish,  since  the  future  held  nothing  at  all  that  she 
pictured  in  it. 

268 


MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 

She  was  tired  when  she  reached  the  hotel,  carry 
ing  Lovin  Child  and  her  suit  case  too  —  porters  being 
unheard  of  in  small  villages,  and  the  one  hotel  being 
too  sure  of  its  patronage  to  bother  about  getting 
guests  from  depot  to  hall  bedroom.  A  deaf  old  fel 
low  with  white  whiskers  and  poor  eyesight  fumbled 
two  or  three  keys  on  a  nail,  chose  one  and  led  the 
way  down  a  little  dark  hall  to  a  little,  stuffy  room 
with  another  door  opening  directly  on  the  sidewalk. 
Marie  had  not  registered  on  her  arrival,  because 
there  was  no  ink  in  the  inkwell,  and  the  pen  had 
only  half  a  point;  but  she  was  rather  relieved  to 
find  that  she  was  not  obliged  to  write  her  name  down 
—  for  Bud,  perhaps,  to  see  before  she  had  a  chance 
to  see  him. 

Lovin  Child  was  in  his  most  romping,  rambunc 
tious  mood,  and  Marie's  head  ached  so  badly  that  she 
was  not  quite  so  watchful  of  his  movements  as  usual. 
She  gave  him  a  cracker  and  left  him  alone  to  investi 
gate  the  tiny  room  while  she  laid  down  for  just  a  min 
ute  on  the  bed,  grateful  because  the  sun  shone  in 
warmly  through  the  window  and  she  did  not  feel  the 
absence  of  a  fire.  She  had  no  intention  whatever  of 

269 


CABIN  FEVER 

going  to  sleep  —  she  did  not  believe  that  she  could 
sleep  if  she  had  wanted  to.  Fall  asleep  she  did, 
however,  and  she  must  have  slept  for  at  least  half  an 
hour,  perhaps  longer. 

When  she  sat  up,  with  that  startled  sensation  that 
follows  unexpected,  undesired  slumber,  the  door  was 
open,  and  Lovin  Child  was  gone.  She  had  not  be 
lieved  that  he  could  open  the  door,  but  she  discovered 
that  its  latch  had  a  very  precarious  hold  upon  the 
worn  facing,  and  that  a  slight  twist  of  the  knob  was 
all  it  needed  to  swing  the  door  open.  She  rushed  out, 
of  course,  to  look  for  him,  though,  unaware  of  how 
long  she  had  slept,  she  was  not  greatly  disturbed. 
Marie  had  run  after  Lovin  Child  too  often  to  be 
alarmed  at  a  little  thing  like  that. 

I  don't  know  when  fear  first  took  hold  of  her,  or 
when  fear  was  swept  away  by  the  keen  agony  of  loss. 
She  went  the  whole  length  of  the  one  little  street,  and 
looked  in  all  the  open  doorways,  and  traversed  the 
one  short  alley  that  led  behind  the  hotel.  Facing  the 
street  was  the  railroad,  with  the  station  farther  up,  at 
the  edge  of  the  timber.  Across  the  railroad  was  the 
little,  rushing  river,  swollen  now  with  rains  that  had 

270 


MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 

been  snow  on  the  higher  slopes  of  the  mountain  be 
hind  the  town. 

Marie  did  not  go  near  the  river  at  first.  Some  in 
stinct  of  dread  made  her  shun  even  the  possibility 
that  Lovin  Child  had  headed  that  way.  But  a  man 
told  her,  when  she  broke  down  her  diffidence  and  in 
quired,  that  he  had  seen  a  little  tot  in  a  red  suit  and 
cap  going  off  that  way.  He  had  not  thought  anything 
of  it.  He  was  a  stranger  himself,  he  said,  and  he  sup 
posed  the  kid  belonged  there,  maybe. 

Marie  flew  to  the  river,  the  man  running  beside 
her,  and  three  or  four  others  coming  out  of  buildings 
to  see  what  was  the  matter.  She  did  not  find  Lovin 
Child,  but  she  did  find  half  of  the  cracker  she  had 
given  him.  It  was  lying  so  close  to  a  deep,  swirly 
place  under  the  bank  that  Marie  gave  a  scream  when 
she  saw  it,  and  the  man  caught  her  by  the  arm  for 
fear  she  meant  to  jump  in. 

Thereafter,  the  whole  of  Alpine  turned  out  and 
searched  the  river  bank  as  far  down  as  they  could 
get  into  the  box  canyon  through  which  it  roared  to 
the  sage-covered  hills  beyond.  No  one  doubted  that 
Lovin  Child  had  been  swept  away  in  that  tearing, 

271 


CABIN  FEVER 

rock-churned  current.  No  one  had  any  hope  of  find 
ing  his  body,  though  they  searched  just  as  diligently 
as  if  they  were  certain. 

Marie  walked  the  bank  all  that  day,  calling  and 
crying  and  fighting  off  despair.  She  walked  the 
floor  of  her  little  room  all  night,  the  door  locked 
against  sympathy  that  seemed  to  her  nothing  but  a 
prying  curiosity  over  her  torment,  fighting  back  the 
hysterical  cries  that  kept  struggling  for  outlet. 

The  next  day  she  was  too  exhausted  to  do  anything 
more  than  climb  up  the  steps  of  the  train  when  it 
stopped  there.  Towns  and  ranches  on  the  river  be 
low  had  been  warned  by  wire  and  telephone,  and  a 
dozen  officious  citizens  of  Alpine  assured  her  over  and 
over  that  she  would  be  notified  at  once  if  anything 
was  discovered;  meaning,  of  course,  the  body  of  her 
child.  She  did  not  talk.  Beyond  telling  the  sta 
tion  agent  her  name,  and  that  she  was  going  to  stay 
in  Sacramento  until  she  heard  something,  she  shrank 
behind  her  silence  and  would  reveal  nothing  of  her 
errand  there  in  Alpine,  nothing  whatever  concerning 
herself.  Mrs.  Marie  Moore,  General  Delivery,  Sac 
ramento,  was  all  that  Alpine  learned  of  her. 

272 


MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 

It  is  not  surprising  then,  that  the  subject  was  talked 
out  long  before  Bud  or  Cash  came  down  into  the 
town  more  than  two  months  later.  It  is  not  surpris 
ing,  either,  that  no  one  thought  to  look  up-stream 
for  the  baby,  or  that  they  failed  to  consider  any  pos 
sible  fate  for  him  save  drowning.  That  nibbled  piece 
of  cracker  on  the  very  edge  of  the  river  threw  them 
all  off  in  their  reasoning.  They  took  it  for  granted 
that  the  baby  had  fallen  into  the  river  at  the  place 
where  they  found  the  cracker.  If  he  had  done  so, 
he  would  have  been  swept  away  instantly.  No  one 
could  look  at  the  river  and  doubt  that  —  therefore  no 
one  did  doubt  it.  That  a  squaw  should  find  him 
sitting  down  where  he  had  fallen,  two  hundred  yards 
above  the  town  and  in  the  edge  of  the  thick  timber, 
never  entered  their  minds  at  all.  That  she  should 
pick  him  up  with  the  intention  at  first  of  stopping 
his  crying,  and  should  yield  to  the  temptingness  of 
him  just  as  Bud  had  yielded,  would  have  seemed  to 
Alpine  still  more  unlikely;  because  no  Indian  had 
ever  kidnapped  a  white  child  in  that  neighborhood. 
So  much  for  the  habit  of  thinking  along  grooves  es 
tablished  by  precedent. 

273 


CABIN  FEVER 

Marie  went  to  Sacramento  merely  because  that 
was  the  closest  town  of  any  size,  where  she  could  wait 
for  the  news  she  dreaded  to  receive  yet  must  receive 
before  she  could  even  begin  to  face  her  tragedy.  She 
did  not  want  to  find  Bud  now.  She  shrank  from  any 
thought  of  him.  Only  for  him,  she  would  still  have 
her  Lovin  Child.  Illogically  she  blamed  Bud  for 
what  had  happened.  He  had  caused  her  one  more 
great  heartache,  and  she  hoped  never  to  see  him  again 
or  to  hear  his  name  spoken. 

Dully  she  settled  down  in  a  cheap,  semi-private 
boarding  house  to  wait.  In  a  day  or  two  she  pulled 
herself  together  and  went  out  to  look  for  work,  be 
cause  she  must  have  money  to  live  on.  Go  home  to 
her  mother  she  would  not.  Nor  did  she  write  to  her. 
There,  too,  her  great  hurt  had  flung  some  of  the 
blame.  If  her  mother  had  not  interfered  and  found 
fault  all  the  time  with  Bud,  they  would  be  living  to 
gether  now  —  happy.  It  was  her  mother  who  had 
really  brought  about  their  separation.  Her  mother 
would  nag  at  her  now  for  going  after  Bud,  would  say 
that  she  deserved  to  lose  her  baby  as  a  punishment 
for  letting  go  her  pride  and  self-respect.  No,  she 

274 


MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 

certainly  did  not  want  to  see  her  mother,  or  any  one 
else  she  had  ever  known.  Bud  least  of  all. 

She  found  work  without  much  trouble,  for  she  was 
neat  and  efficient  looking,  of  the  type  that  seems  to 
belong  in  a  well-ordered  office,  behind  a  typewriter 
desk  near  a  window  where  the  sun  shines  in.  The 
place  did  not  require  much  concentration  —  a  den 
tist's  office,  where  her  chief  duties  consisted  of  open 
ing  the  daily  budget  of  circulars,  sending  out  monthly 
bills,  and  telling  pained-looking  callers  that  the  doc 
tor  was  out  just  then.  Her  salary  just  about  paid 
her  board,  with  a  dollar  or  two  left  over  for  head 
ache  tablets  and  a  vaudeville  show  now  and  then. 
She  did  not  need  much  spending  money,  for  her 
evenings  wrere  spent  mostly  in  crying  over  certain 
small  garments  and  a  canton-flannel  dog  called 
"  Wooh-wooh." 

For  three  months  she  stayed,  too  apathetic  to  seek 
a  better  position.  Then  the  dentist's  creditors  be 
came  suddenly  impatient,  and  the  dentist  could  not 
pay  his  office  rent,  much  less  his  office  girl.  Where 
fore  Marie  found  herself  looking  for  work  again,  just 
when  spring  was  opening  all  the  fruit  blossoms  and 

275 


CABIN  FEVER 

merchants  were  smilingly  telling  one  another  that 
business  was  picking  up. 

Weinstock-Lubin's  big  department  store  gave  her 
desk  space  in  the  mail-order  department.  Marie's 
duty  it  was  to  open  the  mail,  check  up  the  orders,  and 
see  that4  enough  money  was  sent,  and  start  the  wheels 
moving  to  fill  each  order  —  to  the  satisfaction  of  the 
customer  if  possible. 

At  first  the  work  worried  her  a  little.  But  she  be 
came  accustomed  to  it,  and  settled  into  the  routine  of 
passing  the  orders  along  the  proper  channels  with  as 
little  individual  thought  given  to  each  one  as  was  com 
patible  with  efficiency.  She  became  acquainted  with 
some  of  the  girls,  and  changed  to  a  better  boarding 
house.  She  still  cried  over  the  wooh-wooh  and  the 
little  garments,  but  she  did  not  cry  so  often,  nor  did 
she  buy  so  many  headache  tablets.  She  was  learn 
ing  the  futility  of  grief  and  the  wisdom  of  turning 
her  back  upon  sorrow  when  she  could.  The  sight 
of  a  two-year-old  baby  boy  would  still  bring  tears 
to  her  eyes,  and  she  could  not  sit  through  a  picture 
show  that  had  scenes  of  children  and  happy  married 
couples,  but  she  fought  the  pain  of  it  as  a  weakness 

276 


MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 

which  she  must  overcome.  Her  Lovin  Child  was 
gone;  she  had  given  up  everything  hut  the  sweet, 
poignant  memory  of  how  pretty  he  had  heen  and  how 
endearing. 

Then,  one  morning  in  early  June,  her  practised 
fingers  were  going  through  the  pile  of  mail  orders 
and  they  singled  out  one  that  carried  the  postmark 
of  Alpine.  Marie  bit  her  lips,  hut  her  fingers  did 
not  falter  in  their  task.  Cheap  table  linen,  cheap 
collars,  cheap  suits  or  cheap  something-or-other  was 
wanted,  she  had  no  doubt.  She  took  out  the  paper 
with  the  blue  money  order  folded  inside,  speared 
the  money  order  on  the  hook  with  others,  drew  her 
order  pad  closer,  and  began  to  go  through  the  list  of 
articles  wanted. 

This  was  the  list :  • — • 

XL     94,  3  Dig  in  the  mud  suits,  3  yr  at  59^  $1.77 

XL     14  1  Buddy  tucker  suit  3  yr 2.00 

KL       6  1  Bunny  pumps  infant  5 1.25 

KL     54  1  Fat  Ankle  shoe  infant  5 98 

HL  389  4  Rubens  vests,  3  yr  at  90^ 2.70 

SL    418  3  Pajamas  3  yr.  at  59^ 1.77 

OL  323  1  Express  wagon,  15  x  32  in 4.25 

$14.72 
277 


CABIN  FEVER 

For  which  money  order  is  enclosed.  Please  ship 
at  once. 

yery  truly, 

E.  E.  MOOKE, 
Alpine,  Calif. 

Mechanically  she  copied  the  order  on  a  slip  of 
paper  which  she  put  into  her  pocket,  left  her  desk  and 
her  work  and  the  store,  and  hurried  to  her  boarding 
house. 

Not  until  she  was  in  her  own  room  with  the  door 
locked  did  she  dare  let  herself  think.  She  sat  down 
with  the  copy  spread  open  before  her,  her  slim  fingers 
pressing  against  her  temples.  Something  amazing 
had  been  revealed  to  her  —  something  so  amazing  that 
she  could  scarcely  comprehend  its  full  significance. 
Bud  —  never  for  a  minute  did  she  doubt  that  it 
was  Bud,  for  she  knew  his  handwriting  too  well  to  be 
mistaken  —  Bud  was  sending  for  clothes  for  a  baby 
boy! 

"  3  Dig  in  the  mud  suits,  3  yr  — "  it  sounded,  to 
the  hungry  mother  soul  of  her,  exactly  like  her  Lovin 
Child.  She  could  see  so  vividly  just  how  he  would 
look  in  them.  And  the  size  —  she  certainly  would 
buy  them  three-year  size,  if  she  were  buying  for 

278 


MARIE'S  SIDE  OF  IT 

Lovin  Child.  And  the  little  "  Buddy  tucker  "  suit 
—  that,  too,  sounded  like  Lovin  Child.  He  must  — 
Bud  certainly  must  have  him  up  there  with  him! 
Then  Lovin  Child  was  not  drowned  at  all,  but  alive 
and  needing  dig-in-the-muds. 

"  Bud's  got  him !  Oh,  Bud  has  got  him,  I  Tcnow 
he's  got  him !  "  she  whispered  over  and  over  to  her 
self  in  an  ecstasy  of  hope.  "  My  little  Lovin  Man ! 
He's  up  there  right  now  with  his  Daddy  Bud  — " 

A  vague  anger  stirred  faintly,  flared,  died  almost, 
flared  again  and  burned  steadily  within  her.  Bud 
had  her  Lovin  Child !  How  did  he  come  to  have  him, 
then,  unless  he  stole  him  ?  Stole  him  away,  and  let 
her  suffer  all  this  while,  believing  her  baby  was  dead 
in  the  river ! 

"  You  devil ! "  she  muttered,  gritting  her  teeth 
when  that  thought  formed  clearly  in  her  mind. 
"  Oh,  you  devil,  you !  If  you  think  you  can  get  away 
with  a  thing  like  that  —  You  devil !  " 


279 


CHAPTEK  TWENTY-TWO 

THE    CURE    COMPLETE 

IN  Nelson  Flat  the  lupines  were  like  spilled  blu 
ing  in  great,  acre-wide  blots  upon  the  meadow 
grass.  Between  cabin  and  creek  bank  a  little  plot 
had  been  spaded  and  raked  smooth,  and  already  the 
peas  and  lettuce  and  radishes  were  up  and  growing 
as  if  they  knew  how  short  would  be  the  season,  and 
meant  to  take  advantage  of  every  minute  of  the  warm 
days.  Here  and  there  certain  plants  were  lifting 
themselves  all  awry  from  where  they  had  been  pressed 
flat  by  two  small  feet  that  had  strutted  heedlessly 
down  the  rows. 

The  cabin  yard  was  clean,  and  the  two  small  win 
dows  were  curtained  with  cheap,  white  scrim.  All 
before  the  door  and  on  the  path  to  the  creek  small 
footprints  were  scattered  thick.  It  was  these  that 
Marie  pulled  up  her  hired  saddle  horse  to  study  in 
hot  resentment. 

"  The  big  brute !  "  she  gritted,  and  got  off  and 
280 


THE  CURE  COMPLETE 

went  to  the  cabin  door,  walking  straight-backed  and 
uncompromising,  every  mental  and  physical  fiber  of 
her  braced  for  the  coming  struggle.  She  even  re 
gretted  not  having  a  gun ;  rather,  she  wished  that  she 
was  not  more  afraid  of  a  gun  than  of  any  possible 
need  of  one.  She  felt,  at  that  minute,  as  though  she 
could  shoot  Bud  Moore  with  no  more  compunction 
that  she  would  feel  in  swatting  a  fly. 

That  the  cabin  was  empty  and  unlocked  only  made 
her  blood  boil  the  hotter.  She  went  in  and  looked 
around  at  the  crude  furnishings  and  the  small  per 
sonal  belongings  of  those  who  lived  there.  She  saw 
the  table  all  set  ready  for  the  next  meal,  with  the  ex 
tremely  rustic  high-chair  that  had  DYNAMITE 
painted  boldly  on  the  side  of  the  box  seat.  Fastened 
to  a  nail  at  one  side  of  the  box  was  a  belt,  evidently 
kept  there  for  the  purpose  of  strapping  a  particularly 
wriggly  young  person  into  the  chair.  That  smacked 
strongly  of  Lovin  Child,  sure  enough.  Marie  re 
membered  the  various  devices  by  which  she  had 
kept  him  in  his  gocart. 

She  went  closer  and  inspected  the  belt  indignantly. 
Just  as  she  expected  —  it  was  Bud's  belt ;  his  old  belt 

281 


CABIN  FEVER 

that  she  bought  for  him  just  after  they  were  mar 
ried.  She  supposed  that  box  beside  the  queer  high 
chair  was  where  he  would  sit  at  table  and  stuff  her 
baby  with  all  kinds  of  things  he  shouldn't  eat. 
Where  was  her  baby  ?  A  fresh  spasm  of  longing  for 
Lovin  Child  drove  her  from  the  cabin.  Find  him  she 
would,  and  that  no  matter  how  cunningly  Bud  had 
hidden  him  away. 

On  a  rope  stretched  between  a  young  cottonwood 
tree  in  full  leaf  and  a  scaly,  red-barked  cedar, 
clothes  that  had  been  washed  were  flapping  lazily  in 
the  little  breeze.  Marie  stopped  and  looked  at  them. 
A  man's  shirt  and  drawers,  two  towels  gray  for  want 
of  bluing,  a  little  shirt  and  a  nightgown  and  pair 
of  stockings  —  and,  directly  in  front  of  Marie,  a 
small  pair  of  blue  overalls  trimmed  with  red  bands, 
the  blue  showing  white  fiber  where  the  color  had  been 
scrubbed  out  of  the  cloth,  the  two  knees  flaunting 
patches  sewed  with  long  irregular  stitches  such  as  a 
man  would  take. 

Bud  and  Lovin  Child.  As  in  the  cabin,  so  here  she 
felt  the  individuality  in  their  belongings.  Last  night 
she  had  been  tormented  with  the  fear  that  there  might 

282 


THE  CURE  COMPLETE 

be  a  wife  as  well  as  a  baby  boy  in  Bud's  household. 
Even  the  evidence  of  the  mail  order,  that  held  noth 
ing  for  a  woman  and  that  was  written  by  Bud's  hand, 
could  scarcely  reassure  her.  Now  she  knew  beyond 
all  doubt  that  she  had  no  woman  to  reckon  with,  and 
the  knowledge  brought  relief  of  a  sort. 

She  went  up  and  touched  the  little  overalls  wist 
fully,  laid  her  cheek  against  one  little  patch,  ducked 
under  the  line,  and  followed  a  crooked  little  path  that 
led  up  the  creek.  She  forgot  all  about  her  horse, 
which  looked  after  her  as  long  as  she  was  in  sight,  and 
then  turned  and  trotted  back  the  way  it  had  come, 
wondering,  no  doubt,  at  the  foolish  faith  this  rider 
had  in  him. 

The  path  led  up  along  the  side  of  the  flat,  through 
tall  grass  and  all  the  brilliant  blossoms  of  a  mountain 
meadow  in  June.  Great,  graceful  mountain  lilies 
nodded  from  little  shady  tangles  in  the  bushes. 
Harebells  and  lupines,  wild-pea  vines  and  colum 
bines,  tiny,  gnome-faced  pansies,  violets,  and  the 
daintier  flowering  grasses  lined  the  way  with  odor 
ous  loveliness.  Birds  called  happily  from  the  tree 
tops.  Away  up  next  the  clouds  an  eagle  sailed  serene, 

283 


CABIN  FEVER 

alone,  a  tiny  boat  breasting  the  currents  of  the  sky 
ocean. 

Marie's  rage  cooled  a  little  on  that  walk.  It  was 
so  beautiful  for  Lovin  Child,  up  here  in  this  little 
valley  among  the  snow-topped  mountains;  so  shel 
tered.  Yesterday's  grind  in  that  beehive  of  a  de 
partment  store  seemed  more  remote  than  South  Af 
rica.  Unconsciously  her  first  nervous  pace  slack 
ened.  She  found  herself  taking  long  breaths  of  this 
clean  air,  sweetened  with  the  scent  of  growing  things. 
Why  couldn't  the  world  be  happy,  since  it  was  so 
beautiful?  It  made  her  think  of  those  three  weeks 
in  Big  Basin,  and  the  never-forgettable  wonder  of 
their  love  —  hers  and  Bud's. 

She  was  crying  with  the  pain  and  the  beauty  of 
it  when  she  heard  the  first  high,  chirpy  notes  of  a 
baby  —  her  baby.  Lovin  Child  was  picketed  to  a 
young  cedar  near  the  mouth  of  the  Blind  Ledge  tun 
nel,  and  he  was  throwing  rocks  at  a  chipmunk  that 
kept  coming  toward  him  in  little  rushes,  hoping  with 
each  rush  to  get  a  crumb  of  the  bread  and  butter 
that  Lovin  Child  had  flung  down.  Lovin  Child  was 
squealing  and  jabbering,  with  now  and  then  a  real 

284. 


THE  CURE  COMPLETE 

word  that  he  had  learned  from  Bud  and  Cash.  Not 
particularly  nice  words  — "  Doggone  "  was  one  and 
several  times  he  called  the  chipmunk  a  "  sunny-gun." 
And  of  course  he  frequently  announced  that  he  would 
"  Tell  a  worl'  "  something.  His  head  was  bare  and 
shone  in  the  sun  like  the  gold  for  which  Cash  and 
his  Daddy  Bud  were  digging,  away  back  in  the  dark 
hole.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  faded  overalls  trimmed 
with  red,  mates  of  the  ones  on  the  rope  line,  and  he 
threw  rocks  impartially  with  first  his  right  hand  and 
then  his  left,  and  sometimes  with  both  at  once ;  which 
did  not  greatly  distress  the  chipmunk,  who  knew 
Lovin  Child  of  old  and  had  learned  how  wide  the 
rocks  always  went  of  their  mark. 

Upon  this  scene  Marie  came,  still  crying.  She  had 
always  been  an  impulsive  young  woman,  and  now 
she  forgot  that  Lovin  Child  had  not  seen  her  for  six 
months  or  so,  and  that  baby  memories  are  short.  She 
rushed  in  and  snatched  him  off  the  ground  and  kissed 
him  and  squeezed  him  and  cried  aloud  upon  her  God 
and  her  baby,  and  buried  her  wet  face  against  his 
fat  little  neck. 

Cash,  trundling  a  wheelbarrow  of  ore  out  to  the 
285 


CABIN  FEVER 

tunnel's  mouth,  heard  a  howl  and  broke  into  a  run 
with  his  load,  bursting  out  into  the  sunlight  with  a 
clatter  and  upsetting  the  barrow  ten  feet  short  of  the 
regular  dumping  place.  Marie  was  frantically  try 
ing  to  untie  the  rope,  and  was  having  trouble  because 
Lovin  Child  was  in  one  of  his  worst  kicking-and- 
squirming  tantrums.  Cash  rushed  in  and  snatched 
the  child  from  her. 

"Here!  What  you  doing  to  that  kid?  You're 
scaring  him  to  death  —  and  you've  got  no  right !  " 

"  I  have  got  a  right !  I  have  too  got  a  right !  " 
Marie  was  clawing  like  a  wildcat  at  Cash's  grimy 
hands.  "  He's  my  baby !  He's  mine !  You  ought 
to  be  hung  for  stealing  him  away  from  me.  Let  go 
—  he's  mine,  I  tell  you.  Lovin!  Lovin  Child! 
Don't  you  know  Marie  ?  Marie's  sweet,  pitty  man, 
he  is !  Come  to  Marie,  boy  baby !  " 

"  Tell  a  worF  no,  no,  no !  "  yelled  Lovin  Child, 
clinging  to  Cash. 

"  Aw  —  come  to  Marie,  sweetheart !  Marie's  own 
lovin'  little  man  baby!  You  let  him  go,  or  I'll  — 
I'll  kill  you.  You  big  brute !  " 

Cash  let  go,  but  it  was  not  because  she  commanded. 
286 


THE  CURE  COMPLETE 

He  let  go  and  stared  hard  at  Marie,  lifting  his  eye 
brows  comically  as  he  stepped  back,  his  hand  going 
unconsciously  up  to  smooth  his  beard. 

"  Marie  ?  "  he  repeated  stupidly.  "  Marie  ?  "  He 
reached  out  and  laid  a  hand  compellingly  on  her 
shoulder.  "Ain't  your  name  Marie  Markham, 
young  lady  ?  Don't  you  know  your  own  dad  ?  " 

Marie  lifted  her  face  from  kissing  Lovin  Child 
very  much  against  his  will,  and  stared  round-eyed  at 
Cash.  She  did  not  say  anything. 

"  You're  my  Marie,  all  right.  You  ain't  changed 
so  much  I  can't  recognize  yuh.  I  should  think  you'd 
remember  your  own  father  —  but  I  guess  maybe  the 
beard  kinda  changes  my  looks.  Is  this  true,  that  this 
kid  belongs  to  you  ?  " 

Marie  gasped.  "Why  —  father!  Why — why, 
father!"  She  leaned  herself  and  Lovin  Child  into 
his  arms.  "Why,  I  can't  believe  it!  Why — " 
She  closed  her  eyes  and  shivered,  going  suddenly 
weak,  and  relaxed  in  his  arms.  "I  —  I  —  I 
can't—" 

Cash  slid  Lovin  Child  to  the  ground,  where  that 
young  gentleman  picked  himself  up  indignantly  and 

287 


CABIN  FEVER 

ran  as  far  as  his  picket  rope  would  let  him,  where 
upon  he  turned  and  screamed  "  Sunny-gun !  sunny- 
gun  !  "  at  the  two  like  an  enraged  bluejay.  Cash  did 
not  pay  any  attention  to  him.  He  was  busy  seeking 
out  a  soft,  shady  spot  that  was  free  of  rocks,  where 
he  might  lay  Marie  down.  He  leaned  over  her  and 
fanned  her  violently  with  his  hat,  his  lips  and  his 
eyebrows  working  with  the  complexity  of  his  emo 
tions.  Then  suddenly  he  turned  and  ducked  into  the 
tunnel,  after  Bud. 

Bud  heard  him  coming  and  turned  from  his  work. 
Cash  was  not  trundling  the  empty  barrow,  which  in 
itself  was  proof  enough  that  something  had  hap 
pened,  even  if  Cash  had  not  been  running.  Bud 
dropped  his  pick  and  started  on  a  run  to  meet  him. 

"  What's  wrong  ?     Is  the  kid  —  ?  " 

"  Kid's  all  right."  Cash  stopped  abruptly,  block 
ing  Bud's  way.  "  It's  something  else.  Bud,  his 
mother's  come  after  him.  She's  out  there  now  — 
laid  out  in  a  faint." 

"  Lemme  go."  Bud's  voice  had  a  grimness  in  it 
that  spelled  trouble  for  the  lady  laid  out  in  a  faint. 
"  She  can  be  his  mother  a  thousand  times  — " 

288 


THE  CURE  COMPLETE 

"  Yeah.  Hold  on  a  minute,  Bud.  You  ain't  go 
ing  out  there  and  raise  no  hell  with  that  poor  girl. 
Lovins  belongs  to  her,  and  she's  going  to  have  him. 
.  .  .  Now,  just  keep  your  shirt  on  a  second.  I've 
got  something  more  to  say.  He's  her  kid,  and  she 
wants  him  back,  and  she's  going  to  have  him  back. 
If  you  git  him  away  from  her,  it'll  be  over  my  carcass. 
!STow,  now,  hold  on!  H-o-l-d  on!  You're  goin'  up 
against  Cash  Markham  now,  remember !  That  girl  is 
my  girl !  My  girl  that  I  ain't  seen  since  she  was  a 
kid  in  short  dresses.  It's  her  father  you've  got  to 
deal  with  now  —  her  father  and  the  kid's  grand 
father.  You  get  that?  You  be  reasonable,  Bud, 
and  there  won't  be  no  trouble  at  all.  But  my  girl 
ain't  goin'  to  be  robbed  of  her  baby  —  not  whilst  I'm 
around.  You  get  that  settled  in  your  mind  before 
you  go  out  there,  or  —  you  don't  go  out  whilst  I'm 
here  to  stop  you." 

"  You  go  to  hell,"  Bud  stated  evenly,  and  thrust 
Cash  aside  with  one  sweep  of  his  arm,  and  went  down 
the  tunnel.  Cash,  his  eyebrows  lifted  with  worry 
and  alarm,  was  at  his  heels  all  the  way. 

"  Now,  Bud,  be  calm !  "  he  adjured  as  he  ran. 
289 


CABIN  FEVER 

"  Don't  go  and  make  a  dang  fool  of  yourself !  She's 
my  girl,  remember.  You  want  to  hold  on  to  your 
self,  Bud,  and  be  reasonable.  Don't  go  and  let  your 
temper  — " 

"  Shut  your  damn  mouth !  "  Bud  commanded  him 
savagely,  and  went  on  running. 

At  the  tunnel  mouth  he  stopped  and  blinked, 
blinded  for  a  moment  by  the  strong  sunlight  in  his 
face.  Cash  stumbled  and  lost  ten  seconds  or  so,  pick 
ing  himself  up.  Behind  him  Bud  heard  Cash  pant 
ing,  "  Now,  Bud,  don't  go  and  make  —  a  dang  fool 
Bud  snorted  contemptuously  and  leaped  the 
dirt  pile,  landing  close  to  Marie,  who  was  just  then 
raising  herself  dizzily  to  an  elbow. 

"Now,  Bud,"  Cash  called  tardily  when  he  had 
caught  up  with  him,  "you  leave  that  girl  alone! 
Don't  you  lay  a  finger  on  her !  That's  my  — " 

Bud  lifted  his  lips  away  from  Marie's  and  spoke 
over  his  shoulder,  his  arms  tightening  in  their  hold 
upon  Marie's  trembling,  yielding  body. 

"  Shut  up,  Cash.  She's  my  wife  —  now  where  do 
you  get  off  at  ?  " 

(That,  of  course,  lacked  a  little  of  being  the  exact 
290 


THE  CURE  COMPLETE 

truth.  Lacked  a  few  hours,  in  fact,  because  they  did 
not  reach  Alpine  and  the  railroad  until  that  after 
noon,  and  were  not  remarried  until  seven  o'clock 
that  evening.) 

"  !Nb,  no,  no !  "  cried  Lovin  Child  from  a  safe  dis 
tance.  "  Tell  a  worl'  no,  no !  " 

"  I'll  tell  the  world  yes,  yes !  "  Bud  retorted 
ecstatically,  lifting  his  face  again.  "  Come  here, 
you  little  scallywag,  and  love  your  mamma  Marie. 
Cash,  you  old  donkey,  don't  you  get  it  yet  3  We've 
got  'em  both  for  keeps,  you  and  me."  ' 

"Yeah  —  I  get  it,  all  right."  Cash  came  and 
stood  awkwardly  over  them.  "  I  get  it  — found  my 
girl  one  minute,  and  lost  her  agin  the  next!  But 
I'll  tell  yuh  one  thing,  Bud  Moore.  The  kid's  goin' 
to  call  me  grampaw,  er  I'll  know  the  reason  why !  " 


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